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FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 
THE   LIBRARY  OF 


PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


rrszr 


2^£r  /tz-  {a^lZ&s^  Z«~ia^. 


FRAGMENTS 

IN    VEESE    AND    PEOSE. 


^  OF  Pfi/^N, 
V  FEB  13  1933  ^ 


FRAGMENTS 

IX 

VERSE    AND    PROSE. 

BY  |/// 

HENEY  VIETUE  TEBBS. 

COLLECTED,  AT  THEIR  REQUEST, 

FOR  A  BELOVED  WIFE,  AND  DEAR  SONS  AND 
DAUGHTERS,  AND  THEIR  CHILDREN, 

IN  THE  HOPE  THAT,  WHEN  THE  WRITER  SHALL  BE  NO  LONGER  WITH  THEM, 

SOME    OF   THE    PLEASURE    AND    BENEFIT 

WHICH   THESE   OCCUPATIONS    OF   HIS   TIME   AFFORDED    TO    HIMSELF 

MAY  BE  ENJOYED  BY  THEM  ALSO  J 

FOR,    HOWEVER   FEEBLE   THE    RESULT, 

THE   ENDEAYOUR   THROUGHOUT   WAS    SINCERE, 

TO    LEAD    HIMSELF   AND    OTHERS — 

"  NEARER,    0    LORD,    TO   THEE  ;    NEARER   TO   THEE." 

Printed  for  private  circulation  only. 


& 


BRISTOL: 

i.  e.  chillcott,  steam  press,  claite  street  and 
st.  stepkex's  avenue. 

1873. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Southwood  Hall    ...           ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  ...        1 

The  Weeping  Birch  Tree          ...           ...           ...           .„           ...  5 

The  Sick  Boy's  Song          ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  ...        7 

The  Christmas  Tree     ...           ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  10 

Divine  Providence              ...           ...           ...            ..           ...  ...      12 

The  Swallow  ...           ...           ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  13 

Translation  from  the  Zendavesta    ...           ...           ...           ...  ...      14 

The  Bell  Rock              15 

The  Insect  in  Amber          ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  ...      16 

The  Mother's  "Wedding  (Twenty-fourth  Anniversary)     ...          v..  17 

The  Righi  at  Sunrise          ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  ...      21 

Pompeii          ...           ...           ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  21 

Asylum  for  the  Blind  at  South  Boston         ...           ...            ...  ...      26 

Laura  Biidgman's  "Writing      ...            ...            ...            ...            ...  29 

Onward  and  Upward          ...            ...            ...            ...            ...  ...      30 

Baptism  of  Theodore,  1848        ...           ...           31 

His  Three  Sisters'  Report  of  Church  Instruction  to  their  Invalid  Mother      35 

Diamond  and  Loadstone           ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  37 

Ernest  Venables' Baptism  ..           ...           ...           ...           ...  ...      41 

The  "Wells  at  Wiesbaden          ...  44 

Twentieth  Anniversary,  August  5th,  1850    ...            ...            ...  ...      46 

The  Shepherd  Smitten               ...            ...            ...            ...            ...  48 

The  Hall  and  the  Works 51 

The  Snow-Storm  in  the  Black  Forest    ...            ...            ...            ...  55 

Lights  and  Shadows  of  1850  56 


Morning  Hymn,  Ma r chalet h,  18.il        

Latin  Version  of  ditto 

Evening  Hymn 

The  Forget-Me-Nbt 

The  Delayed  Journey  ... 

Consecration  in  Lambeth  Palace  Chapel 

"  Quis  Separabit  ?  " 

The  Sunbeam  on  the  Church  "Wall 

Easter  Day,  1852         

Incident  on  York  Crescent,  Clifton,  1852     ... 

Theodore's  Birthday,  1854,  JEtat.  7 

Almoners  of  a  Royal  Hospital 

The  Grave  in  Friern  Barnet  Churchyard,  1857  ... 

The  First  Birthday,  May  12th,  after  February,  1857 

Letters  S.  N.  T.  traced  in  the  Snow,  March,  1858 

Rabbi  Eliezer  and  Rabbi  Joseph,  1858 

The  Birthday  of  March  16th,  1859         

The  Lost  Reticule... 

The  Answer   ... 

Theodore's  Posy  of  Violets 

Holman  Hunt's  Picture,  "  Christ  in  the  Temple  " 

The  Four  Grand-daughters'  Letter,  Faster,  1861 

The  Epitaph  on  "  Jessie  " 

The  Comet,  July,  1861 

The  Sunsets  at  Montauban,  January,  1862 

Hydres    ... 

The  Birthday,  March  lGfh,  1862  

The  Ferry  Boat  at  Basle    ... 

The  Rhine  and  the  Bocks 

Venice     ... 

St.  Ambrose's  Pulpit,  Milan    ... 

The  Hotel  Villa  d'Este,  Lake  Como 

The  Certosa,  Pavia 

St.  Augustine's  Monument,  in  the  Cathedral  of  Pavia 


PAGE. 

60 
61 
62 

.  64 
65 

,.  66 
69 


..       88 

90 

..      91 

93 

..      94 

95 

..       97 

99 

...     101 

102  and  103 

...     105 

106 

...     107 

109 

...    Ill 

111 

...     118 

121 

...     125 


PAGE. 

Third  Visit  to  Cannes,  1863     ...            131 

Theodore's  Confirmation,  February,  1863     ...            ...            ...  ...     135 

Pegli 137 

Sixty-sixth  Anniversary,  April  10th,  1863  ...            ...            ...  ...     139 

Lots  of  Bright  Things...            ...            ...            ...            ...            ...  1*1 

Group  of  Skeleton  Leaves  in  Glass  Case       ...           ...           ...  ...    143 

The  Fire  on  the  Altar ...           ...           ...           ...           ...           •••  144 

The  Translation  of  Elijah...           ...           ...           ...           ...  ...    145 

Birthday  Wishes         149 

Translations  of  Count  Sclopis' Poems          ...           ...           ...    151  and  154* 

Dr.  Marsh's  Funeral  ...            ...            ...            ...            ...           •••  156 

The  Anniversary,  August  oth,  1865              ...            ...            ...  ...    158 

Sister  Harriet's  Grave,  August,  1866     ...            ...            ...            ...  159 

Baptism  of  Emily  Mabel  Virtue      ...            ...            ...            ...  ...    160 

The  Two  Submarine  Cables      ...            ...             ..            ...            ...  163 

The  Giant  Fruit 166 

The  Sea  and  the  Shore  :  a  Dialogue      ...           ...           ...           ...  167 

Re-opening  of  the  Church  at  Cannes,  November,  1866           ...  ...     171 

The  Sunday  Morning  Service  at  Pegli  ...           ...           ...           ...  173 

Disappointment  in  the  Stars,  November  \Wi,  1867  ...            ...  ...     175 

Caroline's  Christmas  Wishes,  1867         ...            ...            ...            ...  178 

Birthday  Wishes  for  Bishop  Harding  and  his  Brother,  Jan.  7th,  1868       179 

The  Ship  Launch  at  Sestri       ...           ...•          ...           ...           ...  181 

Watching  for  another  Launch        ...           ...           ...           ...  ...    183 

Our  Times  in  His  hand             ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  185 

TheSea-GullsatMentone...           ...    187 

Advent           ...           ...           ...            ...           ...           ...           ...  189 

Sunday  after  Ascension  Day           ...            ..           ...           ...  ...    191 

All  Saints' Day            ...            ...            ...            ...            ...            ...  192 

The  Word  of  Jesus,  "  I  Will  "        194 

The  Stray  Sheep         195 

The  Book  of  Dials ...    201 

TheCrestacea             ...           ...           ...           ...  203 

Lugano  ...            ...            ...           ...           ...           ...           ...  ...    204 


The  Storm  at  Cadenabbia 

The  Three  Cathedrals       

Italy's  Forge  ... 

Genoa :  its  Shipbuilders    ... 

The  Riviera  ... 

The  Letter  from  Venice,  May,  1870 

The  Almond-Tree       

The  Two  Visits  to  Canterbury,  1830, 1871    .. 

The  Inscription  on  St.  Martin's  Lich  Gate 

The  Inscription  on  Dean  Alford's  Tomb 

The  German  Officer's  Iron  Cross 

The  United  Prayer  for  Missions,  December  20th 

To  my  Grandchild  Mabel 

The  Palma  Nobilis 

Second  Poem  on  ditto 

Thoughts  on  the  Divine  Omnipresence 

On  the  Storm  at  Biarritz 

The  Miracle  at  Cana 

The  Night-  Blowing  Cer eus 

The  Seventy-sixth  Birthday 


1872 


rxuL. 

205 

...  207 

209 

213 

216 

218 

221 

...  222 

223 

..  225 

226 

229 

231 

233 

234 

235 

236 

237 

23S 

240 

J 

< 

Q 

a 

o 

h 

O 


FRAGMENTS,    &c. 


SOUTHWOOD    HALL,    HIGHGATE, 

OUR   HOME   FROM   1845  TO   1861. 


Seest  thou  how  lights  and  shadows  mingled  play 

Alternate  on  those  towers  ? 
They  are  as  mem'ries  of  our  joys  and  griefs, 

In  lov'd,  hut  long-lost,  hours. 

0  pleasant  Southwood  !  half  our  wedded  life 

Was  pass'd  within  thy  walls ; 
And  ev'ry  lineament  upon  thy  face 

Some  fond  delight  recalls. 

There  thy  tall  turrets,  with  lance-windows  pierced, 

The  cross  upon  each  "brow — 
Kememherd  from  afar,  those  hallow' d  signs 


There,  too,  thine  eastern,  ivy-mantled  front, 

Where,  each  returning  Spring, 
The  loving  pairs  of  starlings  found  their  nests, 

Hov'ring  the  gentle  wing. 

Nor  these  alone :  the  rohin,  blackbird,  thrush, 

Thy  wooded  shelter  sought ; 
The  crested  wren,  goldfinch,  and  nightingale, 

Melodious  music  brought. 

How  oft  I've  watch' d  from  the  bay-window  there, 

The  graceful  cedar  tree's 
Grand,  solemn  branches,  waving  to  and  fro, 

Sway'd  by  the  summer  breeze. 

How  oft  its  charms  in  Autumn's  bright  decay, 

The  weeping  birch  unfold  ! 
When  wide  its  silver  stems  and  boughs  it  threw, 

With  leaves  of  yellow  gold. 

What  thousand  pleasures  thy  fair  gardens  gave  I 

Smooth  lawns  and  shady  bow'rs  ; 
Thy  banks  of  ferns  and  moss ;  the  echo  on 

Thy  terrace,  bright  with  flow'rs. 

The  gate  below  the  fir-tree  walk,  which  led 

Into  those  woods  of  oak, 
Cov'ring  the  hillside,  from  whose  depths  there  curl'd 

Blue  wreaths  of  cottage  smoke  ; 


Seen  from  the  study,  'mid  its  precious  store — 

"Works  of  the  learned  dead ; 
With  all  that  glorious  valley,  from  before 

Its  balcony  outspread. 

Yet  these  the  feeblest  of  thy  dear  delights  : 

Thine  was  "the  calm  retreat," 
Where  many  of  the  wise,  and  kind,  and  good, 

Oft  met  in  converse  sweet ; 

Chief,  when  in  winter  ev'nings  we  essay 'd 

Our  mutual  zeal  t'  inflame, 
By  deeds  of  "brethren,"  who  in  heathen  lands  * 

A  Saviour's  love  proclaim. 

It  was  within  thy  walls  Life's  Author  gave 

To  us  our  youngest  son ; 
And  thence  we  bore  him  to  the  Church's  font : 

Pure  may  his  course  be  run  ! 

Thence  two  lov'd  daughters  happily  were  led 

Unto  the  marriage  rite ; 
And  twice  the  joys  of  bridegroom  and  of  bride 

Gladden'd  parental  sight. 

Thy  gates  were  open'd  on  one  other  day, 

For  a  far  diff 'rent  train : 
It  was  another  daughter  then  borne  forth, 

Not  to  return  again  ; 

The  Annual  Meetings  held  for  the  Missions  of  the  Moravian  Brethren. 


Yet  higher,  holier,  and  far  happier  still 

Was  her  appointed  place  ; 
For  the  Chief  Shepherd  call'd  that  lamh  ahove, 

To  rest  before  His  face. 

Hallow'd  the  mem'ries  that  consecrate 

Our  long-endear' d  abode ! 
There  did  we  often  find  such  love  from  man, 

There  found  such  love  from  God. 

So.  now,  when  failing  health  our  steps  compel 

To  seek  more  genial  climes, 
The  grateful  heart  shall  temper  the  regrets, 

Clinging  to  those  lost  times. 


THE    WEEPING    BIECH    TEEE. 

SOUTHWOOD   HALL,    23rd   OCTOBER,   1850. 


Gem  of  the  grove  !  like  a  maiden  fair, 
"With  thy  silv'ry  arms  and  thy  golden  hair, 
Thy  palm-like  stature  and  foliage  free; 
Not  a  tree  in  the  woods  that  can  vie  with  thee, 

My  "birch  with  snowy  stem  ! 
From  the  laurel  hank  thou  hast  made  thy  spring, 
And  hast  grown  such  a  light  and  fairy  thing, 
That  ev'ry  gentle  and  joyous  hreeze, 
While  it  passes  away  from  the  other  trees, 
Will  fly  to  thy  tresses  bright,  and  please 

Itself  by  playing  with  them. 

And  £0  all  through  the  sunny  day 
Thou  hast  ever  a  merry  word  to  say, 
Or  a  graceful  how  on  our  airy  hill 
For  all  that  salute  thy  beauty :  still 
Thy  glory  is  not  here ; 


() 

It  is  in  the  dark  and  gloomy  hour, 
When  the  clouded  skies  their  sorrows  pour, 
Thy  drooping  branches  then  will  show 
Thy  form,  as  for  sympathy,  made  in  woe, 
And  thy  long,  dark  eyelashes,  bending  low, 
Sheds  each  its  pearly  tear. 

Happy  the  emblem !     Teach  me  this 
Purest  enjoyment  and  noblest  bliss 
In  a  world  of  losses  and  doubtful  gains, 
Of  some  few  pleasures,  but  sharper  pains, 

As  we  climb  life's  rugged  steeps — 
Our  brother's  emotions  to  make  our  own, 
And  bid  him  feel  he  is  not  alone  ; 
For  his  good  a  smile,  for  his  grief  a  moan ; 
And,  echoing  back  his  ev'ry  voice, 
To  joy  with  him  when  he  is  made  to  rejoice, 

And  -weep  with  him  when  he  weeps. 


THE    SICK    BOY'S    SONG, 


CONFINED    TO    HIS   NURSERY   BY    SCARLET   FEVER. 


DIALOGUE. 


Sister.     Do  you  hear  the  sounds  of  that  musing  wild  ? 
Mother.  It  is  the  song  of  my  fever'd  child. 


SONG. 

Oh  !  why  did  they  bring  me  so  quickly  away 
From  the  boys  in  my  merry  school  ? 

From  my  easy  books,  and  my  joyous  play, 
And  my  teacher's  pleasant  rule  ? 

I  love  my  home,  and  they  all  are  dear, 
The  bright  faces  within  its  walls ; 
But  they've  put  me  apart  from  them  all  up  here — 
They  tell  me  I'm  ill,  and  must  not  appear 
Below  in  the  airy  halls. 


8 


But  I  feel  so  light  of  heart,  I  think 

There's  nothing  the  matter  with  me  ; 

Though  they  say  I  must  go  to  the  water's  Drink, 
To  wash  me  clean  in  the  sea. 

Well,  here  1  sit  in  my  tapestry  room  ; 

And  wherever  I  turn  to  look, 
I  see  the  skill  of  the  wonderful  loom 

In  the  trees  and  the  purling  brook, 

The  dairy  cow,  and  the  dairy  maid ; 

The  fleecy  flocks  in  the  plains ; 
The  falcon's  hrown  wings  wide  display'd, 

And  the  greyhounds  coupled  in  chains. 

There  are  rivers,  with  rocks,  and  galleys,  and  junks 
There,  churches,  and  convents,  and  towns ; 

With  a  band  of  brown-rob'd,  rosaried  monks, 
Their  crosses,  and  shaven  crowns. 

There's  that  curious  closet  of  carved  oak, 
With  such  figures  of  men  and  things, 

It  puzzles  me  more,  the  more  I  look, 
Whether  they're  subjects  or  kings. 

'Tis  sad,  though,  to  see,  from  day  to  day, 

So  little  of  father  and  mother ; 
And  never  with  Harry  a  bit  of  play, 

Nor  sisters,  nor  baby  brother. 


9 


But  only  to  romp  with  fond  old  nurse ; 

Yet  never  to  tease  or  fight  her, 
That  my  school,  she  may  see,  has  not  made  me  -worse, 

But  wiser  and  politer. 

I  hear  them  ring  the  great  "bell  in  the  hall, 
That  summons  them  down  to  prayers ; 

And  although  I  must  not  answer  the  call, 

A  pleasant  smile  I  get  from  them  all, 

As  they  pass  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

And  many  a  happy  thought  is  mine, 

As  I  peep  through  the  painted  glass, 

"Which  makes  the  cloudiest  day  to  shine, 
Like  sunheams  on  the  grass. 

Still,  when  I  see  the  rohin  flit 

Through  the  branches  of  the  tree, 
Oh !  then  I  think  I'm  a  prisoner  yet, 
And  would  give  (if  I  had  it)  the  world  to  get 

My  liberty  bright  as  he. 

Stay,  stay !  I'll  be  patient ;  for  well  I  know 

Whose  hand  has  clipp'd  my  wing ; 
In  His  own  good  time  He'll  let  me  go, 
And  cheerily  then,  with  the  lov'd  ones  below, 

"We'll  all  His  praises  sing. 


10 


THE    CHRISTMAS    TEEE, 


PLANTED  AT    SOTJTHWOOD    HALL,  FOR   THE    BENEFIT  OF  A 
MORAVIAN   MISSION    SCHOOL. 


Brethren,  sisters,  neighbours,  hail ! 

All  hail  to  our  Christmas  Tree  ! 
Scarce  have  the  snows  from  off  the  ground 
Lifted  the  robe  they  threw  around, 
"When,  froze  each  stream  to  its  water's  edge, 
Their  wreaths  they  hung  on  ev'ry  hedge, 
Bidding  the  cedar's  houghs  assume 
The  feathery  forms  of  the  ostrich  plume ; 
And  the  silver  birch  its  branches  fling 
In  the  air,  like  the  bird  of  paradise'  wing. 
Keen  yet  the  winds  that  sweep  our  hill ; 
The  dull,  gray  clouds  are  frowning  still : 
But  hearts  are  warm,  and  steps  are  bold, 
For  Mercy's  plans  defy  the  cold ; 
And  you  come  with  feelings  frank  and  free, 

Kindly  to  hail  our  Christmas  Tree  ! 


11 


In  ancient  days  it  was  Egypt's  palm 

That  chronicled  the  year ; 
Tree  of  the  Pharaohs !  with  long  arm 
Outstretch' d,  each  Spring  a  shoot,  to  charm 

Time's  flight  in  vision  clear. 
Then  sprang,  with  drooping  cones,  the  pine, 
To  tell  His  rise,  advance,  decline. 
Now,  our  slumb'ring  joys  we  stir 
By  ta]l  and  ever-verdant  fir ; 
Beckoning  friends  to  como  and  see, 

And  kindly  hail  our  Christmas  Tree  ! 

Then,  on  the  boughs  were  off' rings  laid, 
For  gods  who  could  not  hear  nor  aid — 
Lares,  Penates,  Wodin,  Thor — 
Gods  of  the  hearth,  of  peace,  or  war. 

Behold  our  tree !  its  branches  hung 
With  pleasant  fruits  for  old  and  young, 
Tokens  of  joy  to  mark  the  birth 
Of  Him  who  came  to  redeem  the  earth — 
"The  Root,"  "the  Branch,"  "the  Sceptre  bright, 
"Israel's  Glory,  Gentiles'  Light!" 
All  its  radiant  fruits  design' d  * 
To  link  in  brotherhood  all  mankind, 
"With  heathen  children  beyond  the  sea : 

How  would  they  hail  our  Christmas  Tree  ! 


*  Through  the  kindness  of  friends,  the  Tree  was  so  far  fruitful  as  that  it 
produced  upwards  of  £40  for  the  Moravian  Missions. 


12 


Hither,  then,  youths  and  maidens  fair ! 
Your  bright  eyes  yet  undimm'd  by  care, 

Your  warm  hearts  beating  free ; 
Look  again  on  our  "  pleasant  plant," 
And  while  unknown  to  you  is  want, 
And  ev'ry  day  its  blessings  brings, 
Borne,  as  of  old,  on  shining  wings, 
Double  the  pleasure  they  prepare, 
Giving  the  heathen  child  a  share  ; 
For  though  our  fir  have  earthly  root, 
Its  branches  bend  with  Christian  fruit. 

One  parting  glance  at  its  cheerful  face ! 
Nature  behold,  combin  d  with  grace ! 
And  you  will  not  sorrow  you  came  to  see, 

And  kindly  to  hail  our  Christmas  Tree  ! 


VAEYING  EVENTS  OF  PEOYIDENCE. 


A  chequer'd  life  liv'd  all  the  good, 

Like  sunbeams  shot  through  thickest  wood, 

Alternate  light  and  shade ; 
But  every  path  their  footsteps  trod, 
"Whether  they  felt  the  staff  or  rod, 
'Twas  still  the  Providence  of  God 

"Which  love  alike  display' d. 


13 


THE    SWALLOW.* 


Speed  thine  airy,  rapid  flight, 
Bird  of  passage,  swift  as  light ! 
When  thy  time  to  migrate  's  come, 
How  thou  seek'st  thy  brighter  home ! 
Not  an  instant  here  delaying, 
Nought  thy  meteor  progress  staying, 
From  these  fickle  climates  fly 
To  yon  fair,  serener  sky, 
"Where  nor  cold  nor  cloud  shall  ever 
Thee  from  sportive  gladness  sever. 

Oh !  I  see  thy  instinct  skill, 
Bird  of  wisdom — how  thou  still, 
Ne'er  on  earth  thy  bosom  resting, 
Art  thy  journey  ever  hasting. 
Blest  the  secret !  downward  fling 
Its  discovery  from  thy  wing. 
Sore  I  long,  like  thee  in  air, 
To  escape  this  world  of  care, 
Spring  aloft  this  clod  above, 
Up  to  perfect  light  and  love. 

*  Three  peculiarities  mark  the  habits  of  this  bird:   It  seeks  a  brighter 
<  lime ;  it  takes  its  food  while  flying  ;  and  it  never  rests  on  the  ground. 


14 


Thus  in  thee  myself  I  view : 
I'm  a  bird  of  passage,  too. 
Teach,  oh !  teach  me  to  sustain 
Ceaseless  flight  through  storm  and  rain, 
And  trust  my  Guide,  like  thee,  to  bring 
All  my  food  while  on  the  wing. 


TKANSIATION  FBOM   THE   ZENDATESTA. 


Though  our  good  actions  should  exceed 
The  sea-shore  sands  or  stars  of  heaven, 
Unworthiness  we  yet  must  plead, 
And  humbly  pray  to  be  forgiven  ; 
For  countless  still  our  sins  remain 
As  leaves  of  trees,  or  drops  of  rain. 


15 


THE    BELL    EOCK, 

TTJNBRLDGE    WELLS. 


We  went  to  the  rocks,  and  saw,  and  admir'd 
All  that  you've  heard  me  tell ; 

We  wander' d  about  till  we  both  were  tired, 
But  never  discover' d  the  "  Bell." 

No  friendly  hand  had  we  to  guide 
To  the  sounding,  echoing  stone  ; 

And  so  whatever  we  found  beside 
Was  silent,  hard,  and  lone. 

Such  disappointment  is  yours,  dear  friend, 
In  searching  the  Scriptures  of  Light ; 

Researches  in  dissatisfaction  end, 
Till  Jesus  comes  in  sight. 

In  vain  is  the  harp  of  the  prophet  struck, 

Or  type  may  bid  rejoice  ; 
Jesus  alone  is  the  smitten  Eock, 

The  Eock  that  has  a  voice. 


10 


THE  INSECT  IN  AMBEE. 

TRANSLATION    FROM    MARTIAL' S     EPIGRAMS. 


As  while  a  little  insect  stray' d 
Beneath  a  poplar's  cooling  shade, 

"Whose  amber  leaves  distill' d 
An  unctuous  gum,  there  fell  a  drop, 
And  round  it  quickly  closing  up, 

The  little  wanderer  kill'd. 

"Wondering  at  first  itself  to  view 
-Shrin'd  thus  within  a  lucid  dew, 

Like  its  own  nectar' d  cell, 
It  stood ;  but,  stiffening,  soon  it  found  t 
The  beauteous  prison  press  it  round, 

And  all  its  frame  congeal. 

Yet,  luckless  captive,  whelm' d  with  gloom, 
Thy  life  was  lowly ;  but  thy  doom, 
Recorded  in  so  rich  a  tomb, 

Thou  surely  canst  not  mourn  : 
For  now  no  more  the  beauteous  queen 
Of  Egypt  can  despise  the  mean, 
Since  thou,  ignoble,  thus  art  seen 

Embalm'd  in  such  an  urn. 


17 


TO    MY    MOTHEE, 


ON   THE   TWENTY-FOURTH   ANNIVERSARY   OF   HER 
WEDDING   DAY. 


(imitated  from  burns.) 


My  Mither  !  'tis  your  wedding  day : 
You've  ask'd  me  for  a  rhyme ; 

And  stores  o'  wishes  could  I  say, 
Had  I  like  stores  o'  time. 

I  write  ye  this  in  merry  mood — 
The  day  ha'  made  me  glad ; 

An'  yet  ye  maunna'  think  it  odd, 
If  still  I'm  somewha'  sad. 

Ah,  Mither !  truly  do  I  love 
And  fondly  cherish  thee ; 

Na  Mither  e'er  like  thee  could  prove 
Half  sic  a  friend  to  me. 

c 


18 


Era'  my  heart  I  say,  "  Blest  be  the  day 
Whereon  ye  wedded  were  ;  " 

Blest,  sin'  fra'  it,  wi'  joy  I  say, 
That  ye  my  Mither  are. 

'Tis  now  just  twice  twelve  years  a' gone 
Sin'  then  that  knot  ye  bound ; 

An'  mony  a  daughter,  mony  a  son, 
Now  circle  ye  around. 

"We  all  maun  love  ye ;  for  ye' re  good 

And  dearly  kind  to  we, 
And  ye  ha'  taught  us  to  love  God 

In  ways  of  piety. 

And  love  for  love  we  all  do  give, 
Sweet  interchange  of  peace ; 

Rejoicing  most  wi'  ye  to  live 
In  sic  a  way  as  this. 

Na  wonder,  then,  if  I  be  glad, 

So  happy  is  the  day  : 
A  bonnie  hour  ;  an'  we'd  be  bad, 

If  itherwise  we'd  say. 

And  yet  I'm  sad :  'tis  truth  I  speak  ; 

An'  I'll  e'en  tell  ye  why — 
Ye  often  say  your  frame  is  weak, 

And  dim  become  your  eye. 


19 

We  ken  it,  Mither,  and  we  fear ; 

But  all  that  skill  can  lend, 
"Wi'  soft  affection  join'd  in  prayer, 

Your  footsteps  shall  attend. 

In  Indian  tales  ye  maun  ha'  read 

About  that  tree  abroad, 
Whose  branches  round  the  first  stem  spread, 

A  filial  strength  afford. 

And  as  upon  the  earth  they  drop, 

A  bonnie  sight  to  see, 
They  rooten  fast,  and  guard  and  prop 

The  aged  parent  tree. 

Just  so,  my  Mither,  we,  thy  bairns, 

Will  compass  ye  around, 
And  succour  ye  in  all  alarms, 

Till  life's  remotest  bound. 

And  happier  we  shall  be  than  they 

Whom  men  oft  happy  call ; 
Our  bliss  will  wi'  its  owners  stay, 

Theirs  from  its  owner  fall. 

If  piety  ha'  na'  its  seat 

Within  the  secret  breast, 
'Tis  na  in  being  rich  or  great 

To  make  us  trulv  blest. 


20 

We  want  na'  honours  o'  the  worl', 

Their' s  is  a  thorny  road ; 
E'er  may  we  keep  ('tis  best  of  all) 

Our  Mither  and  our  God. 

And  though  'tis  lang  sin'  ye  were  young 

(Yoursel'  ha'  oft  it  told), 
"We  wish  it  may  he  twice  as  lang, 

Ere  we  shall  ca'  ye  old. 

Then  blest  be  all  sic  days  as  these, 
In  sacred  pleasures  pass'd  ; 

And  may  each  one,  as  God  may  please, 
Prove  sweeter  than  the  last. 


Chelsea,  June  21,  1820. 


SUMMIT    OF    RIGHI    AT    SUNEISE 

LETTER  TO  DAUGHTER  CAROLINE,    AUGUST,   1830. 


This  letter  comes  to  yon,  as  all  your  best  blessings  do,  from 
above  the  chads.  I  am  at  tbis  moment  writing  on  tbe  summit  of 
Mount  Rigbi,  in  Switzerland,  wbere  we  bare  rested  for  tbo 
nigbt  in  a  comfortable  bospice  about  5,750  feet  above  tbe  level 
of  tbe  sea.  "We  were  botb  overpowered  with  admiration  and 
deligbt  at  tbe  proofs  of  tbe  migbty  band  of  God  wbicb  every- 
where surround  us.  We  commenced  tbe  ascent  about  five 
o'clock ;  and,  after  witnessing  a  sunset  of  tbe  brigbest  glory 
behind  Mount  Pilate,  reached  the  auberge  at  about  ten.  All 
our  toils  and  fatigues  are  amply  compensated.  Never  have  I 
witnessed  such  impressive  scenes  before,  and  perhaps  never 
may  again.  At  three  o'clock  this  morning,  we  were  awakened 
by  the  crowing  of  the  cock  (for  there  is  quite  a  farm  at  the 
summit  of  the  mountain) ;  and  were  awe-struck;  on  going  to 


22 


our  window,  at  the  view  it  presented  to  us.  We  beheld,  as  we 
supposed,  a  sea  of  snow,  not  in  agitation,  hut  peacefully  he- 
calmed.  The  full  moon  was  shining  in  undimmed  brightness 
above ;  and  in  the  midst  of  these  snowy  waves  rose  all  around 
a  multitude  of  frosted  mountains,  reflecting  in  every  variety  of 
form  its  silvery  rays.  It  was  some  time  ere  we  could  suffi- 
ciently collect  our  ideas,  and  accurately  determine  our  position. 
The  first  impression  was,  that  we  had  awoke  in  the  polar 
circle,  and  were  in  those  ice-bound  regions  where  the  Moravian 
missionaries  glow  with  the  love  of  their  Saviour,  and  live  and 
die  to  lead  their  heathen  flocks  to  that  Good  Shepherd.  But 
we  soon  remembered  the  toil  of  the  evening;  and  then  dis- 
covered that  what  appeared  the  "white  sea"  below  us  were  the 
clouds  resting  for  the  night  two  thousand  feet  beneath,  or 
above  half  way  up  the  mountain,  and  that  as  many  feet  below 
them  lay  a  sleeping  world ;  while  the  Alps,  whose  top  had 
penetrated  the  vapours,  were  the  connecting  links  between  it 
and  ourselves.  Our  little  auberge  seemed  like  the  ark  resting 
on  Ararat,  the  only  vestige  of  life  and  place  of  safety  in  the 
death-like  silence  which  reigned  around.  We  could  only  give 
utterance  to  our  feelings  in  tears. 

But  a  brighter  scene  was  awaiting  us.  At  about  four,  the 
long  horn  of  the  Alps  sounded  through  the  galleries,  and 
summoned  us  to  greet  the  opening  day.  All  our  travellers,  in 
their  cloaks  and  furs — some  from  almost  all  climes— sallied 
forth  to  the  highest  peak.  Every  eye  was  turned  towards  the 
east.  A  few  moments  of  silence,  and  another  blast  of  the  horn 
announced  the  sun's  first  ray,  not  as  yet  reaching  us ;  but  we 
turned,  and  saw  his  golden  light  on  the  lofty  pinnacle  of  the 
high  Alp  behind  us— the  Jungfrau,  then  on  the  Wetten  Horn ; 


23 


and  then  another  blast  from  the  guide ;  and  wc  saw  the  first 
direct  ray  start  above  the  fleecy  pavement  at  our  feet,  and 
shoot  between  the  mountain  tops,  overlaying  all  with  lines  of 
purple  and  gold.  It  was  an  exciting  moment!  Not  a  word 
was  spoken ;  but  several  of  our  fellow-travellers  fell  on  their 
knees.  We  could  not  repress  the  wish,  that  all  those  present, 
and  all  dear  to  us,  might  feel  an  equal  desire  to  behold  the  "Sun 
of  Kighteousness,"  and  would  look  for  Him  "more  than  they 
who  watch  for  the  morning." 

One  of  the  first  objects  which  the  opening  light  disclosed 
served  to  strengthen  these  impressions.  It  was  a  cross  which 
the  monks,  who  occupy  the  hospice,  had  erected  on  a  pro- 
minent part  of  the  Alp ;  and  although  superstition  may  often 
pervert  this  emblem,  the  Christian  need  not  reject,  on  that 
account,  the  hallowed  thoughts  which  it  suggests.  Until  ten 
o'clock  we  watched  the  power  of  the  sun  on  this  glorious 
scene.  What  a  change  from  the  still  and  pale  beauty  of  the 
night!  The  pavement  of  snow  is  broken  up.  At  first  a 
crevice  or  two  opened  a  glimpse  of  the  green  valleys  below; 
then  the  whole  mass  seemed  set  in  solemn  motion,  as  though 
the  mountain  would  be  forced  from  its  moorings;  then  the 
vapours  attenuated,  till  only  a  few  fleecy  curtains  hung  around 
the  Alps,  like  birds  taking  wing.  And  now  the  whole  of  this 
wondrous  scene  is  outspread  before  us.  To  describe  it  is 
impossible !  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  our  guides  tell  us  we  may 
count  two  hundred  Alps,  fifty-four  towns  or  villages,  and 
fourteen  of  the  Swiss  lakes.  But  I  can  never  count  on  such 
spots.  I  can  only  gaze  with  delight  and  wonder  on  these 
magnificent  exhibitions  of  the  power,  and  glory,  and  goodness 
of  the  Lord. 


■  ■ 


i 


VIEW    OF    POMPEII. 


We  arrived  at  Pompeii  about  eleven  o'clock.  Here  we  left 
our  carriage,  and  entered  this  solemn  and  remarkable  scene  by 
the  Gate  of  the  Tombs.  First  impressions  are  often  the  most 
important;  and  after  having  visited  every  portion  of  this 
singular  and  most  interesting  scene,  we  cannot  but  think  that 
we  were  rightly  advised  to  commence  our  investigations  where 
we  did.  This  was  a  spot  of  ground  without  the  walls  of  the 
city,  and  consisted  of  a  long,  narrow  road,  paved  with  large 
triangular  stones.  On  either  side  of  this  road  were  ranged  the 
tombs  of  the  dead ;  some  mutilated  and  broken ;  others  of 
elegant  construction  and  in  marble,  with  the  inscriptions  and 
sculpture  so  fresh  upon  them  that,  although  they  had  been 
buried  for  nearly  two  thousand  years,  they  appeared  as  if  they 
had  been  finished  but  yesterday. 

We  were  then  conducted  through  the  gates  of  the  city,  and 
into  the  houses  of  the  inhabitants,  some  wealthy,  and  others 
poor,  who  had  either  revelled  in  the  luxury  of  opulence,  or 
toiled  in  their  workshops  for  daily  support.    We  saw  their 


25 


marble  baths,  their  painted  rooms,  their  splendid  halls,  their 
tesselated  pavements,  and  their  places  of  manufacture.  "We 
descended  to  the  cellars,  where  still  remained  many  of  the 
amphora?  for  their  ■wine ;  went  to  their  two  theatres,  and  then 
to  the  various  temples  of  their  gods ;  but  all  was  now  desolate 
and  overthrown.  Long  lines  of  broken  pillars,  altars  that  for 
centuries  had  ceased  to  be  stained  with  the  blood  of  sacrifices, 
statues  before  which  worshippers  had  ceased  to  bow,  corn-mills, 
and  utensils  of  industry  that  were  now  useless,  met  us  at  every 
turn.  It  was  a  city  cast  down  from  wealth  and  glory,  the 
remains  of  which  had  been  brought  to  light  to  attest  the  awful 
character  of  the  Divine  visitations.  It  was  impossible  to  avoid 
reflecting  on  the  doom  of  Sodom  and  the  cities  of  the  plain, 
overwhelmed  with  a  destruction  not  wholly  dissimilar ;  and  on 
that  "great  city,  Babylon,"  for  here,  too,  "the  grass  is  grown 
up  in  her  palaces,  nettles  and  brambles  in  her  fortresses ; "  and 
we  saw  innumerable  lizards  and  grasshoppers,  basking  and 
chirping  in  those  seats  of  revelry  where  once  the  voice  of  music 
resounded,  or  the  rites  of  pagan  worship  had  been  celebrated. 
"We  could  not  but  remember,  from  the  temples  which  we  saw 
around  us,  that  Pompeii  was  a  city  of  idolaters ;  and  called  to 
mind  that  expressive  Scripture,  which  says,  "Against  all  the 
gods  of  the  heathen  will  I  execute  judgment."  TVe  spent  five 
hours  in  examining  these  interesting  remains. 

The  most  impressive  effect  of  all,  was  to  behold,  rising  above 
the  desolate  city  and  the  surrounding  soil, — on  one  side  the  fine 
chain  of  cultivated  hills  of  Sorento,  which  know  no  change ; 
and  on  the  other  side  that  mighty  mountain  Vesuvius,  out  of 
whose  fires  broke  forth  the  torrent  which  overwhelmed  the 
inhabitants  at  its  base. 

1838. 


26 


VISIT    TO    THE    BLIND    ASYLUM 

AT   SOUTH   BOSTON,    MASSACHUSETTS. 


Saturday,  27  th  February,  1841. — Visited  the  Asylum  for  the 
Blind,  at  South  Boston,  which  presents  a  most  affecting  hut 
interesting  spectacle.  Seventy  children  of  either  sex  thus 
afflicted  are  taken  care  of  and  taught  in  that  institution. 

The  first  thing  that  arrested  my  attention  was  a  group  of 
half-a-dozen  girls,  apparently  from  thirteen  to  seventeen  years 
of  age,  all  completely  "blind,  surrounding  a  very  large  globe. 
They  were  husily  employed  in  adjusting  its  elevation,  working 
its  problems,  and  pointing  out  countries,  capitals,  gulfs,  and 
lakes,  as  quickly  as  their  teacher  could  name  them. 

One  girl,  more  intelligent  and  advanced  than  the  rest, 
called  a  younger  blind  companion  to  her  side ;  and  when  the 
latter  had  felt  her  way  round  by  the  wooden  horizon,  she,  in  a 
voice  of  sisterly  kindness,  explained  the  mode  gf  finding  out 
what  hour  the  sun  would  rise  and  set  at  Boston  on  a  given 
day ;  and  as  the  little  pupil  successfully  worked  the  problem, 
and  the  answer  was  announced  as  correct,  a  smile  of  satisfaction 
and  delight  beamed  on  her  poor  countenance,  which,  but  for 
the  vacant  gaze  of  its  darkened  eyes,  would  have  had  a  very 
pleasing  expression. 


27 


In  the  school-room  I  saw  a  sum  worked  by  one  of  these 
blind  pupils,  who  in  a  few  seconds,  with  her  little  types  on  a 
perforated  metal  square,  calculated  the  interest,  at  six  per  cent., 
on  an  odd  number  of  dollars  and  cents,  for  a  given  number  of 
days. 

I  then  had  poetry  read  to  me  with  distinctness  and  grace. 
Then,  in  a  spacious  saloon  which  was  used  for  music,  a  band  of 
these  sightless  ones,  without  any  help  but  from  each  other, 
ascended  an  orchestra,  took  their  seats  in  order,  and  first  one 
on  the  piano,  and  then  another  on  the  organ,  played,  while  the 
rest  sang  in  parts,  with  delightful  harmony. 

In  the  workshops  of  the  boys  there  were  brushes  and  other 
articles  in  course  of  manufacture,  with  a  neatness  and  skill 
equal  to  that  of  their  more  gifted  fellows;  and  in  the  play- 
room, a  little  active  fellow  practised  his  gymnastics,  ascended 
the  arched  ladder  and  long  rope,  and  tumbled  himself  over  and 
over,  so  as  to  make  us  forget  that  he  had  no  eyes. 

But  the  most  affecting  object  of  the  whole  was  poor  Laura 
Bridgman.  This  little  girl,  only  eleven  years  old,  with  a 
countenance  of  much  symmetry — her  eyes  only  concealed  by  a 
fillet  of  gauze — presents  one  of  the  most  touching  exhibitions 
of  early  suffering  that  can  well  be  imagined,  being,  by  a 
singular  combination  of  sorrows,  blind,  deaf  and  dumb,  without 
smell,  and  with  imperfect  taste.  Her  case  has  attracted  great 
attention ;  and  never  shall  I  forget  the  sentiments  which  this 
little  being  awakened  in  my  mind.  She  was  seated  by  the  side 
of  a  young  woman,  who  seemed  to  have  the  peculiar  charge  of 
her,  and  to  whom  she  clung  with  an  ardent  attachment.  She 
was  in  a  very  cheerful  mood.  A  little  piece  of  money  pre- 
sented to  her  as  expressive  of  kind  sympathy,  awakened  her 


28 


gratitude ;  and  she  laughed,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  feel  the 
friend  who  had  presented  it.  She  felt  for  her  purse,  and 
counted  all  her  little  store,  and  gave  the  sum  correctly.  Her 
teacher  held  her  little  delicate  hand  in  hers,  and  communicated 
my  name  and  address  to  her ;  and  she  wrote  it  on  paper,  and 
added  her  own,  and  then  felt  for  a  paper-knife,  and  having 
doubled  the  paper,  cut  it  off  and  handed  it  to  me.  She  wrote 
also  a  friend's,  who  was  with  me;  and  when  her  teacher  was, 
with  her  fingers,  spelling  the  name  (AdsheadJ,  little  Laura 
caught  the  idea  of  the  second  syllable,  and  touched  her  head  in 
token  of  understanding  it. 

I  gave  her  my  watch;  and  she  immediately  felt  it,  and 
made  a  sign  to  indicate  its  ticking,  and  took  each  seal  and 
pressed  it  down  on  the  table,  as  if  making  an  impression,  and 
then  the  key,  and  applied  it  to  the  watch. 

She  shewed  a  quick  susceptibility  of  approbation  or  reproof. 
A  lady  who  was  present  laid  her  reticule  near  her,  when  she 
opened  it,  and  took  out  a  purse,  and  placed  it  by  the  side  of  her 
own ;  but  as  the  teacher  did  not,  as  usual,  pat  her  cheek, 
she  sprung  up,  clasped  her  round  the  neck,  and  kissed  her,  as  if 
imploring  the  accustomed  mark  of  affection  :  still  it  was  with- 
held, and  her  little  mind,  dwelling  in  its  darkness,  appeared 
pondering  and  searching  for  the  cause;  when  at  length  the 
moral  sense  seemed  to  be  awakened  in  her— the  lesson  was 
conveyed  that  she  had  not  acted  correctly— and  she  sprang 
back  to  the  table,  took  the  purse,  and  in  a  hurried  manner  held 
it  out  to  the  lady  again;  and  when  her  teacher's  mark  of 
approval  followed,  her  little  countenance  lighted  up  with  joy. 

She  attends  the  prayers  of  the  other  children,  but  cannot 
join  their  singing;    she  only  feels  their  lips  in  motion,  and 


29 


moves  her  own.  There  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  in  a  short  time, 
with  a  child  of  so  much  intelligence,  there  will  be  an  effectual 
communication  of  religious  truth ;  and  I  could  not  leave  the 
teacher  without  an  expression  of  encouragement  from  her  past 
success,  and  dropping  a  word  on  the  high  privilege  and  honour 
which  might  be  in  store  for  her,  of  communicating  to  one 
apparently  so  far  beyond  the  reach  of  all  knowledge  the  truths 
and  hopes  of  the  Gospel. 

The  subjoined  are  photographs  of  the  writing  of  this  inter- 
esting girl.  The  second  touching  sentence  has  reference  to 
Julia  Brace,  another  child  similarly  afflicted,  whose  case  has 
excited  much  sympathy,  and  was  written  at  a  later  period  than 
the  first — 

"I  want  to  see  deaf  and  dumb,  and  blind  Julia  Brace,  in 
Hartford. 

"Laura  Bridgman." 


u    X) 

CtU 


^ 


b  u^n 

wtluu 
InT    ban*  [  )\fyfr 


30 


A    CHEISTIAN    WISH 

ONWARD    AND   UPWARD. 


Onward  the  lightning — but  its  bolts  descend ; 
Onward  the  storm-cloud — but  its  big  drops  fall ; 
Not  these  thy  emblems,  Christian,  nor  thy  end  : 
The  flash,  to  thee,  the  hailstorm,  vainly  call. 

Gaze  on  the  cornfields  on  the  sunny  hills, 
Onward  and  upward  blade  and  ear  are  driven ; 
See  how  the  dew  along  the  earth  distils, 
Till  in  the  light  it  all  ascends  to  heaven ! 

Be  these  thy  emblems  in  life's  little  span, 
Whether  thou  tread' st  a  smooth  or  thorny  road 
Onward,  in  pure  benevolence  to  man ; 
Upward,  in  fervent  piety  to  God. 


31 


LINES  TO  THEODORE  HASLOPE  TEBBS, 

BAPTISED  ON  THE  EEAST  OF  THE  CIRCUMCISION, 
MDCCCXLYIII. 


For  their  dear  sakes  who  love  thee,  little  one,  my  prayers  ascend, 

That  like  to  this  beginning  may  be  thy  journey's  end. 

The  "  Gift  of  God  "  they  call  thee ;  and  like  her  who  wept  and  pray'd, 

At  the  feet  of  God  the  Giver  His  dear  blessing  they  have  laid : 

And  as  He  then  accepted  her,  so  has  He  met  them  now. 

Girt  round  thy  soul  a  spotless  robe,*  and  seal'd  thine  infant  brow — 

Seal'd  thy  young  forehead  with  the  sign,  which  on  this  sacred  day, 

Cast  its  first  stern  foreshadowing  on  thy  Saviour's  thorny  way. 

To  thee  and  all  who  love  thee  may  the  blessed  lot  be  given, 

To  bear  His  cross  here  in  your  hearts,  and  wear  His  crown  in  Heaven. 

Frank  E.  Venables. 

feast  of  the  Circumcision,  1848. 

*  Samuel  ministered  before  the  Lord,  girded  with  a  linen  ephod. 


32 


Thanks,  youthful  bard,  a  parent's  thanks, 

For  this  thy  warm  desire, 
Breathed  forth  in  sounds  so  Christianly 

Upon  thy  ten- string' d  lyre. 

Kind  is  thy  heart,  and  sweet  thy  harp ; 

Its  echoes  have  compell'd, 
In  kindred  strain  of  gratitude 

Our  faint  response  to  yield. 

Could' st  thou  have  seen  that  joyous  day ! 

Be  it  now  thy  joy  to  know 
How  peacefully  we  bore  him  on 

To  his  baptismal  vow. 

Around  that  font  was  gather' d, 
At  the  evening  hour  of  prayer, 

A  little  band  long  since  baptiz'd : 
Some  with  the  soldier's  scar; 

Others  unused  to  conflict  yet, 

In  the  Christian  warrior's  strife ; 

But  all  with  hearts  uplift  to  Him 
Who  turns  our  death  to  life. 

So  gently  fell  the  crystal  drops 

Upon  his  infant  brow  ; 
So  softly  laid  the  holy  sign 

Which  mark'd  the  holy  vow ; 


33 


Not  a  struggle  told  the  moment  when 
That  sacred  seal  was  press'd : 

Hosanna !  was  our  temple  cry ; 
The  new  hope  fill'd  our  breast. 

It  spoke  the  pledge — he  ne'er  will  shrink 

The  after  cross  to  bear ; 
And  in  this  good  confession's  joy 

Thou,  poet,  hast  a  share. 


ADDRESSED  TO  THE  REV.  E.  VENABLES, 

AFTER   HIS   VISIT    ON   THE   OCCASION. 

Some  tears  will  flow  when  those  we  cherish  go, 
E'en  though  the  call  be  duty,  and  not  death  : 
We  could  not  bar  thy  way ;  though  brief  thy  stay, 
We  bless  thy  sojourn  with  our  parting  breath. 

A  sacramental  sojourn !  when  thou  cam'st, 
We  call'd  thee  to  a  Baptism.     It  was  thine 
To  bid  us  to  a  Passover,  and  add 
To  sacred  water  sacramental  wine. 

D 


34 


Long  to  be  remember' d  by  us  all  that  eve, 
When  in  the  upper  furnish' d  chamber  spread, 
Our  child,  so  late  thy  bride,  we  knelt  beside, 
And  took  from  thee  the  consecrated  bread. 

A  visit  once  was  by  an  angel  made, 

"When  Israel's  prophet  in  the  desert  slept ; 

And  one,  in  brighter  glory  only,  paid 

By  the  angels'  Lord,  when  two  his  absence  wept. 

The  little  baken  cake,  the  water  cruse, 
The  angel  touch  which  bid  the  lonely  rise, 
To  eat  and  drink,  and  to  resume  his  way, 
On  food  which  gave  the  forty  days'  supplies. 

The  meal  at  Emmaus  !  the  glowing  hearts, 
As  agony  to  glory  burst  in  sight ; 
The  broken  bread,  blest  as  it  broke,  and  told 
Whose  that  lov'd  form  that  vanish' d  into  light. 

Such  visits  call  not  short :  they  overflow 

All  time,  all  space  ;  and  though  how  much  untrod 

Our  desert  yet  we  know  not,  we  can  grasp 

The  pilgrim's  staff,  and  kiss  the  chastening  rod, 

And  urge  our  onward  way  unto  the  Mount  of  God. 


35 


FOE  THREE  DUTIFUL  DAUGHTEES, 

WHO  HAD  "WRITTEN  PROM  MEMORY  A  SERMON  WHICH  THEIR 
INVALID   MOTHER   HAD   BEEN   UNABLE   TO   HEAR. 


Thrice  happy  combination ! 

The  ear,  the  tongue,  the  hand ; 
The  joy  of  such  oblation 

But  parents  understand. 

The  pilgrimage  profession 

The  voices  that  would  win, 

To  join  the  good  confession 

Have  well  remember'd  been. 

Three  branches  carried  wider 
The  temple's  golden  light ;  * 

And  ye  have  borne  beside  her 

The  truth  that  cheer' d  your  sight. 


*  "  Three  branches  of  the  candlestick  out  of  the  one  side,  and  three 
branches  of  the  candlestick  out  of  the  other  side."— Exod.  xxv.  32. 


Who  track  the  way  so  truly 
Themselves  must  pilgrims  be  ; 

And  though  'tis  strait  and  holy, 
The  path  has  space  for  three. 

Three  blessed  ones  shall  join  ye 

"With  succour  from  above ; 
Companions  of  your  journey 

Thither — Faith,  and  Hope,  and  Lovi 

And  on  which  side  soever 

Ye  climb  the  mountain's  height ; 
East,  west,  north,  south,  for  ever, 

Three  pearly  gates  of  light  * 

Stand  open  day  and  night. 

•  Rev.  xxi.  13,  21,  25. 


37 


THE  DIAMOND  AND  THE  LOADSTONE. 


A  Diamond  lay- 
In  a  jeweller's  tray, 
And  sparkled,  and  glitter' d,  and  look'd  very  gay. 

There  a  Loadstone,  too, 
Was  expos' d  to  view, 
But  look'd  very  dull,  as  loadstones  do. 

Now  the  Diamond  bright 
Said,  "  You  gloomy  fright, 
You're  quite  a  disgrace  to  me :  out  of  my  sight ! " 

But  the  Loadstone  stayed, 
For  he  wasn't  afraid ; 
And  now  you  shall  hear  the  speech  that  he  made. 

"  It  is  plain  to  me 
That  we  cannot  agree  ; 
For  you  only  wish  to  be  seen  and  see. 


38 


"  But  I,  I'm  aware, 
Have  no  beauty  to  spare  ; 
But  of  use  if  you  talk,  ah !  I  beat  you  there. 

"  It  was  owing  to  me 
That  the  ship  that  brought  thee 
Came  safe  from  America  over  the  sea. 

"You're  pretty,  'tis  true; 
But  I  shall  not  mind  you, 
Till  you  answer  me  plainly,  What  you  can  do  ?  " 

Anonymous,  Youth's  Magazine. 


THE  DIAMOND'S  ANSWER,  BY  H.  V.  T. 

Now  the  Diamond  knew 
It  was  all  very  true 
That  the  Loadstone  said  about  what  he  could  do  ; 

And  she  felt  she  was  foil'd, 
For  her  speech  had  recoil'd ; 
But  to  blush  would  at  once  her  complexion  have  spoil'd. 


39 


So,  recovering  her  fright, 
Like  a  Diamond  bright, 
She  made  him  an  answer  as  clear  as  the  light. 

"  Kings  and  queens,  you're  aware, 
Must  have  something  to  wear 
In  their  beautiful  crowns ;  and  pray  what  should  be  there  ? 

"  Not  your  heavy  eye, 
Mr.  Loadstone ;  and  why  ? 
Who  could  bear  a  black  spot  in  a  crown  to  descr}7,  ? 

"  Or  on  breast  of  the  fair  ? 
Or  her  locket  of  hair  ? 
Or  the  bright  ring  of  friendship,  its  love  to  declare  ? 

"  Tis  for  gems  such  as  me 
They  send  over  the  sea ; 
And  I  came,  Brother  Magnet,  conducted  by  thee. 

"  I  lay  still  in  the  mine ; 
It  was  others'  design 
To  raise  me,  and  polish,  and  bid  me  to  shine. 

"  And  a  crime  is  it,  pray, 
Thus  to  sparkle  away, 
With  all  the  seven  colours  of  light  and  of  day  ? 


40 


"  But  I've  still  a  word  more 
To  say  on  the  score 
Of  usefulness,  too,  that  you  make  such  a  "bore : 

"  How  came  you  to  be 
In  this  case  beside  me  ? 
Whose  point  cut  the  glass  ?  let  me  ask  this  of  thee. 

"  Then  let  us  both  turn, 
Not  defects  to  discern, 
But  from  Him  who  hath  made  us  our  duties  to  learn. 

"  You  the  ship's  path  define ; 
But  leave  me  to  mine, 
In  the  sunlight  of  heaven  like  a  prism  to  shine. 

"Attraction  to  earth 
Is  the  lot  of  your  birth ; 
But  for  purest  reflection  have  I  been  sent  forth. 

"  Then  the  same  be  our  care ; 
And  if  you  from  afar 
The  pole  can  distinguish,  I'll  gleam  like  its  star." 


41 


BAPTISM  OF  EDMUND  ERNEST  VENABLES, 

AT  HERSTMOXCEUX  CHURCH,  SUSSEX,  ON  THE 
25th  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY,   25th  NOVEMBER,  1849. 


It  was  at  Jerusalem  the  feast  of  the  dedication,  and  it  was  winter.' 

John  x.  22. 


The  Church.' s  year  is  fleeting  past, 
Fading  its  line  of  Sabbaths  fast ; 
As  stars  go  out  in  early  morn, 
Before  the  new  bright  advent's  dawn. 

Mute  are  the  feather' d  warblers  grown, 
The  autumn  robin  sings  alone ; 
And  woods  are  flinging  wide  around 
Their  leafy  showers  on  the  ground. 

Why  in  this  dreary  month  and  chill, 
The  haze  still  sleeping  on  the  hill, 
Up  to  yon  church's  beacon  tower 
Hastens,  in  this  too  early  hour, 


42 


That  mother  with  her  new-horn  son  ? 
What  hopes  she,  when  that  summit's  won, 
Bidding  the  skies,  in  spirit  meek, 
Breathe  gently  on  his  infant  cheek  ? 

She  speeds  on  holiest  themes  intent : 

So  Hannah  to  the  temple  went ; 

So  Mary,  virgin  mother,  too ; 

With  their  firstborn,  their  Lord  in  view. 

Those  mothers'  hymns  "my  soul"  would  join, 
My  Lord,  to  "  magnify  with  mine  ;  " 
Praise  loud  as  theirs  shall  tune  m)'  voice — 
"His  handmaid  He  hath  hid  rejoice."  * 

And  lo  !  His  gift  I'll  give  again — 
From  Him  tp  me,  from  me  to  Him ; 
Though  wintry  winds  around  me  sweep, 
A  dedication  feast  I  keep.f 

When  on  his  "brow  the  holy  sign 

Is  press' d,  to  seal  this  lamh  as  Thine, 

0  Saviour,  Shepherd !  ratify 

The  adoption  blessings  from  on  high. 

Blessings  above,  the  same  beneath, 
In  chequer' d  life,  in  pains  of  death! 
Conquest  o'er  sin,  its  sting,  its  grave ; 
Thy  glory  when'Thou  com'st  to  save. 

*  Luke  i.  46,  47.  iJohn  x.  22. 


43 


A  loftier  height  upon  that  hill 

I  see— a  purer  water  still 

Than  sparkled  in  baptismal  font ; 

To  those  through  these  my  soul  would  mount. 

Blame  not  my  haste !  life's  speeding  on, 
Each  step  a  passage  to  the  tomb  ; 
And  friends  are  fading  like  the  leaves, 
While  every  blast  of  some  bereaves. 

Still,  dear  ones  on  their  boughs  remain, 
To  cheer  the  homestead,  woodland  scene  ; 
And  while  in  autumn  suns  they  linger  yet, 
First  of  a  new-born  race,  this  early  bud  we  set.* 


•  "  He,  ere  one  flowery  season  fades  and  dies, 

Designs  the  blooming  wonders  of  the  next."— CowrER. 


44 


THE  WELLS   OF  WIESBADEN. 


'« 0  ye  "Wells,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  him  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 


Benedicite  Opera. 


In  German  land  I've  seen  them  fling 
Their  waters  from  the  ground  ; 

A  cloud  reveal' d  the  steaming  spring, 
While. snows  were  circling  round. 

I  saw,  too,  crystal  fountains  burst 
In  many  a  sparkling  rill, 

Prompt  for  a  poor  disciple's  thirst 
Their  cup  of  love  to  fill. 

Hard  by,  the  medicated  streams, 
Bubbling  the  Wells  beneath, 

Eeflect  Bethesda's  healing  gleams, 
On  sickness  nigh  to  death. 


45 


Thus,  cold,  or  hot,  or  healing,  these 
Thy  wondrous  plans  fulfil ; 

God  of  the  waters !  glad  to  please, 
They  work  thy  loving  will. 

But  thou,  secluded,  modest  Well, 

Whom  all  are  passing  by ; 
Canst  thou  no  allegory  tell, 

To  lift  His  glories  high  ? 

Let  me  look  down  on  thee  once  more, 

In  this,  thy  tranquil  space  ; 
Lo !  though  'tis  now  the  midnight  hour, 
The  starry  skies  their  radiance  pour, 
And  show,  as  through  the  "  open'd  door,' 
A  heaven  below,  thy  face. 


4<> 


THE    TWENTIETH    ANNIVERSAKY 

OF  AUGUST  5th  (1850). 


Twice  ten  Summers'  suns  have  set ; 

Twice  ten  Winters'  snows 
Have  fallen  and  dissolv'd :  and  yet, 

Best  blessing  that  affection  knows, 

I  call  thee  mine !    He  who  is  Love 
These  gentle  bands  first  knit, 

A  wife's  and  mother's  joys  to  prove, 
With  Cana's  blessing  lit. 

Not  always  glittering  our  path ; 

And  yet  no  frosts  have  chill' d 
Our  love,  which  still  its  springtime  hath, 

Autumnal  peace  to  yield. 

That  day  a  ring,  a  bracelet  now, 

I  give  thee  ;  let  it  tell 
The  fair  hand  then  extended,  how 

T  clasp  and  love  as  well. 


47 

What  though  we  cannot  lift  the  veil 
That  hides  our  future  day, 

The  same  shall  he  our  thankful  tale 
Of  the  right  and  pleasant  way. 

Each  day  a  prayer  for  every  child ; 

That  some  day  all  the  seven, 
Earth's  snares  escap'd,  and  unheguil'd, 
Holy  and  harmless,  undefil'd, 

May  reach  the  rest^of  heaven. 

Then  not  a  flower  on  earth  so  bright, 

Nor  star  in  starry  sky, 
As  holy  parents'  pure  delight, 
Their  offspring" to  have  train'd  to  sight 

Of  everlasting  day. 


48 


THE    SHEPHEED    SMITTEN 


[On  viewing  Berry  Head,  late  the  residence  of  the  Rev.  H.  F.  Lyte,*  from 
Beacon  Hill,  Torquay.     August,  1830.  ] 


Why  droop'd  my  heart  on  yon  breezy  hill. 

As  I  gaz'd  o'er  its  sunlit  bay  ? 
Blue  as  the  heavens,  and  brighter  still, 

For  stars  there  glittering  lay ; 

So  laugh' d  the  waters  in  beams  of  light, 

So  play'd  with  melody's  voice 
On  the  pebbly  beach :  each  sound  and  sight 

Invited  aloud  to  rejoice. 

Oh !  could  I  forget  that  in  days  gone  by 

I  had  reach' d  its  opposite  shore, 
And  tasted  pleasures  holy  and  high, 

Which  never  may  visit  me  more. 

*  The  friend  to  whose  early  death  reference  is  here  made,  was  long  known 
to  the  Church,  both  by  his  devoted  and  successful  labours  in  the  parish  of 
Lower  Brixham,  Devon,  and  by  his  interesting  volume  of  Religious  Poetry, 
and  Metrical  Version  of  the  Psalms;  and  perhaps  more  extensively  by 
that  hymn  which  is  now  so  great  a  favourite  in  every  congregation,  the  last 
written  by  him  before  leaving  Berry  Head,  in  September,  1847— "Abide 
with  me !    Fast  tails  the  eventide." 


49 


In  that  cliff  which  stretches  its  beauteous  line 

Along  the  glowing  west, 
I  had  seen,  of  peace  that  pleasuntest  sign, 

The  seabird's  rock-built  nest. 

On  pinion  strong  aloft  he  flew, 

And  soar'd  in  the  sky  above ; 
Or  dipp'd  his  wing  in  the  flood  below, 

Ere  he  turned  to  his  home  of  love. 

I  had  seen,  too,  in  the  vale  below, 

At  the  foot  of  the  shadowing  rock, 

A  peaceful  fold,  and  the  shepherd  too, 
Dwelling  amidst  his  flock. 

He  knew  them  all ;  and  the  lambs  he  fed 

In  pastures  green  and  fair, 
And  all  to  the  gushing  streams  he  led, 

"With  the  tenderest  shepherd's  care. 

Days  have  roll'd  on ;  and  I  come  again, 

And  I  find  the  seabird's  grot— 
The  nest  is  there :  but  I  look  in  vain, 

The  father-bird  is  -not. 

Lone  sits  his  mate  with  her  folded  wing, 

In  aspect  meek  and  sad ; 
And  these  thoughts  of  the  past  her  sorrows  brim 

Then  how  can  I  be  prlad  ': 

E 


50 


The  sheepfold !  there  I  see  it  still, 

With  its  flock,  and  a  shepherd  too, 
Under  that  selfsame  sunny  hill ; 

But  'tis  not  he  I  knew. 

These  are  the  clouds  on  earth-horn  joy 

That  flit  o'er  the  pilgrim's  way  : 
Oh !  haste,  then,  pilgrim ;  and  he  thine  employ, 

To  live  for  a  holier  day. 

May  that  widow' d  heart  once  more  rejoice 

In  her  children's  duteous  love ; 
And  the  young  shepherd  speak  with  his  father's  voice, 

Till  all  he  united  ahove. 

The  nests  in  that  Rock  no  change  can  reach, 

So  holy  and  so  high  ; 
No  separation  make  a  "breach, 

Nor  flocks  nor  shepherds  die. 


51 


THE    HALL    AND    THE    WOEKS, 


[On  visiting  Barr  Hall,  the  seat  of  Sir  Edward  Scott,  Bart.,  and  Goldshill 
Ironworks,  the  property  of  Thomas  Bagnall,  Esq.     September  12,  1850.] 


"We  saw  a  stately  Hall, 
Bosom' d  in  hills  and  groves  ; 
With  "pleasant  pictures"  fill'd,  and  all 
The  gems  that  taste  approves. 

Its  spreading  lawns,  in  hue 
Like  brightest  emeralds,  lay  ; 
And  its  peaceful  lake,  like  a  sapphire  blue, 
Sparkled,  and  flowed  away. 

Then  on  the  gentle  hill 
Our  steps  were  upward  led, 
Where  Eden's  flowers  were  blooming  still, 
Each  in  its  radiant  bed. 

The  noble  hosts  were  there, 
Courteous,  and  free,  and  kind ; 
Our  hearts  they  won,  and  a  place  so  fair 
We  sorrow' d  to  leave  behind. 


52 


But  we  pass'd  from  the  Hall  away, 
With  its  brightness  on  us  still, 
To  a  land  of  cinders  and  dust,  that  lay- 
On  the  side  of  its  neighbour  hill ; 

"Where,  in  place  of  the  lofty  oak, 
With  the  river,  and  church's  spire, 
"Were  furnaces,  coal,  and  smoke, 
And  streams  of  liquid  fire. 

And  there  broke  on  our  ear  a  sound 
From  the  turrets  proud  and  high, 
Scorning  "The  Works"  on  the  ashy  ground, 
That  lay  so  lowly  by  : 

"  Demon  of  darkness,  back ; 
Nor  stretch  out  thy  grimy  hands  ! 
Ye  winds,  awake ;  and  these  vapours  black 
Blow  from  our  beauteous  lands  !  " 

'Twas  the  Barr  Beacon  high 
That  its  haughty  censure  pass'd  ; 
When  a  moan  was  uttered  in  hollow  reply 
From  the  angry  furnace  blast: 

"  Scorn  on,  if  thou  wilt,  thou  proud  ! 
But  it  ill  becomes  thy  lot 
Thus  to  advance,  in  boastings  loud, 
The  honours  of  thy  ( Scott.' 


53 

"  Little  thou  deemest  how 
Thy  fahric  fair  has  ris'n  ! 
Thine  ev'ry  stone  once  lay  as  low 
As  the  ore  in  my  iron  pris'n. 

"  Not  a  "battlement  of  thine, 
Nor  light  on  thy  sunny  face, 
But  owes  to  some  humble  tool  of  mine 
Its  brightness  and  its  place. 

.   "  The  arch  thy  stream  that  spans, 

Its  gateway,  and  its  fence, 
Came  all  alike  from  my  soiled  hands  — 
I  forg'd  and  bore  them  hence. 

"  The  fountains  that  gaily  spring 
O'er  thy  moss'd  and  flowery  soil, 
And  those  flowers  themselves,  their  tribute  bring 
To  my  implements  of  toil. 

"  Times,  too,  have  been,  and  are, 
"When  even  on  my  face 
Glories  more  curious  there  appear 
Ihan  ever  thine  can  trace. 

"  "When  the  Day  his  orb  has  roll'd 
Behind  the  western  hill, 
My  fires  fringe  it  with  crimson  and  gold, 
Like  ten  suns  lingering  still. 


54 


"  If  thy  honours  are  meekly  borne, 

I  will  look  at  thy  Beacon  height 
As  oft  again  as  the  mornings  dawn 
On  thy  woods  and  towers  and  upland  lawn, 

And  laugh  with  grim  delight. 

"  Lowly  he  thy  desires ; 

Think  how  thou  rose  at  first, 
And  rein  the  pride  that  thus  aspires  ; 
Or,  remember  there  are  avenging  fires 

May  bring  thee  again  to  dust." 

We  listen' d  :  in  milder  tone 
The  voice  from  the  towers  was  heard ; 
And  the  breezes  that  echoed  it  whisper' d,  "  We  own 
The  rebuke  was  a  righteous  word. 

"  For  under  the  form  of  gloom 
The  true  worth  often  lurks ; 
And  not  on  our  splendour  will  we  presume, 
But  will  better  judge  '  The  Works.' 

"  Their  all-transmuting  fire 

Shall  now  our  wonder  invoke  : 
One  thing  alone  we  cannot  admire, 
Nor  this  would  reason  itself  desire — 

The  horrible,  horrible  smoke ! " 


55 


SNOW-STOEM  IN  THE  BLACK  FOKEST, 

1850. 


1  Hast  thou  entered  into  the  treasures  of  the  snow  l"—Job  xxxviii.  22, 

So  pure  a  mantle  overspread 

Hill,  valley,  wood,  and  plain, 
It  seem'd  that  sin  the  world  had  fled, 

Nor  left  behind  a  stain. 

It  has  not ;  yet  His  snows  descend — 

Their  silver  wings  they  rest, 
To  speak,  at  earth's  remotest  end, 

Peace  to  the  contrite  breast. 

"  Crimson  and  scarlet "  though  the  dye, 

That  cleansing  fount  is  full : 
"  Come,  let  us  reason ;  "  this  is  why 

"  He  giveth  snow  like  wool." 

Isaiah  i.  18.  Psalm  cx'lvii.  16. 


56 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  THE  YEAE  1850. 


One  more  sundown,  and  thou  wilt  then  have  pass'd, 
Thou  friendly  year !  large  bliss  hast  thou  conveyed — 
A  few  dark  hours  of  sorrow  and  of  pain, 
Thousands  of  health,  and  cheerfulness,  and  joy. 
Much  have  I  lov'd  thee,  as  the  gift  of  Him, 
Ancient  of  Days,  whose  years  know  no  decline. 
To  Him  thou  wast  a  mote,  a  grain,  a  sand ; 
Howe'er,  to  us,  one  of  a  mountain  range — 
Time's  milestones.     Thou,  the  last,  not  yet 
By  moss  of  age  obscur'd  or  marbled  o'er, 
Brighter,  as  middle  column  of  a  century. 

How  often  has  this  hand  cipher' d  thy  name 
On  friendship's  wings,  and  with  affection's  word 
On  records  of  our  pleasures  or  our  griefs ; 
The  last  how  few,  the  first  a  multitude. 

Yet  often  though  so  bright,  thou  sett'st  in  clouds ! 
Thrice,  within  these  thy  last  seven  days,  has  Death 
Spoke  to  my  friends,  and  bid  them  journey  with  thee 
They  heard,  a  moment  weighed  the  solemn  call, 
Then  girt  their  loins,  and  took  their  lamps  to  go. 


One,  full  of  years ;  full,  too,  his  earthly  cup  — 
His  sons  to  manhood  and  to  honour  come : 
0  joy  worth  worlds !  to  hear  a  father's  voice  — 
"  Come  near  and  kiss  me,  now,  my  son ; 
For  thou  hast  been  a  duteous  son  to  me :  " 
Then  with  a  later,  not  a  weaker,  breath — 
"  My  hope,  my  peace,  reliance— all  in  Christ !  " 
Another  lies,  smitten  with  palsied  brain, 
Uttering  no  word,  no  sign  of  peace  or  hope  : 
Dark  shadow  this !  yet  only  such  as  casts 
The  tropic  sun :  'tis  but  beneath  the  foot ; 
All  light  above,  behind,  before,  around. 
The  life  was  Christ's ;  death  will  be  silent  gain. 

The  third,  God's  minister :  how  doubly  blest ! 
A  Christian  warrior  from  his  very  youth ; 
Xow,  conqu'ror  on  the  battle-field  of  death, 
Though  overcome  by  premature  decay. 
Lo  Awhile  as  yet  in  "Winton's  learned  plains, 
His  Saviour  met  him  in  his  boyhood's  prime ; 
Foremost  in  classic  lore,  his  laurel  crown 
"Won,  aft,  on  banks  of  Isis  and  of  Thame. 
But  it  was  there  his  youthful  hand  first  touch' d 
The  Book  of  Life.     A  heedless  class-mate  left, 
Neglected,  torn,  dust-covered,  Heaven's  bright  pearl 
He  found  it,  learnt  its  worth,  was  rich  for  ever.* 


*The  late  Rev.  Andrew  Brandram,  who  died  at  Brighton,  December  26th, 
1850,  having  been  twenty-seven  years  the  indefatigable  Clerical  Secretary  of 
the  British  and  Foreign  Bible  Society.    He  is  recorded  to  have  received  his 


58 


What,  then,  his  manhood's  life  P    Unwearied  toil 
"  In  making  many  rich  "  with  that  same  pearl, 
For  well-nigh  full  a  generation's  age. 
The  eye,  the  tongue,  the  right  hand,  and  the  arm 
Of  that  most  curiously  compounded  hody, 
Which,  like  an  angel  in  his  might,  hath  flown 
Over  all  lands,  and  with  exhaustless  store, 
Cast  everywhere  the  seeds  of  truth  and  life. 
And  now  from  those  abounding  toils  he  rests ; 
While  what  he  bore  to  thousands  carried  him 
In  peace,  through  death's  dark  valley  to  the  Lord. 

O  solemn  close  of  the  expiring  year ! 
When  such  a  standard-bearer  falls  :  and  lo  ! 
At  the  same  moment  looms  a  motley  band 
Of  vicars  apostolic,  bishops,  cardinals,  t 
With  locks  and  chains,  and  seals  and  interdicts, 
To  fasten  up  again  these  precious  gifts, 
Man's  birthright,  from  his  race.     Oh !  hasten  then, 
Ye  faithful  servants  of  the  cross,  and  dare 


first  religious  impressions  while  at  Winchester  School,  and  preparing  for 
Oriel  College,  Oxford,  where  he  took  a  double  first-class.  It  is  said,  that 
when  placing  his  books  in  a  closet  which  had  been  left  vacant  by  the  boy 
who  preceded  him,  he  found  an  old  Bible,  the  only  thing,  it  seems,  that  it 
had  not  been  thought  worth  while  to  carry  away.  Curiosity  impelled  him 
to  read  it;  and  he  became  wise  unto  salvation.  From  that  time,  his  whole 
character  was  altered,  and  probably  his  after  life  influenced  as  the  chief 
officer  of  that  noble  institution,  whose  object  is,  by  the  united  efforts  of  all 
denominations,  however  differing  in  other  respects,  yet  combining  in  this — 
to  circulate  the  same  volume  throughout  the  world.  Mr.  Brandram  kept 
this  Bible  till  his  death. 

tThe  papal  aggression,  creation  of  bishoprics  in  England,  &Q,,  &c. 


59 


These  spoilers  who  intrude  on  England's  shores  — 
On  England's  glorious  work.     Increase  your  gifts 
Of  zeal  and  love  ;  add  fervour  to  your  prayers ; 
That,  while  for  earthly  domination  strive 
The  potsherds  of  the  earth,  ye  may  renew 
Th'  unfmish'd  work  of  "best  benevolence, 
And  be,  through  widest  of  all  earth's  domains, 
Evangelists  of  man. 


GO 


MORNING    HYMN 


Oh. !  when  wilt  thou  come  unto  me  S  " — Psalm  ci.  2. 

Come  to  me,  Lord,  when  first  I  wake, 
As  the  faint  lights  of  morning  break  ; 
Bid  purest  thoughts  within  me  rise, 
Like  crystal  dew-drops,  to  the  skies. 

Come  to  me  in  the  sultry  noon ; 
Or  earth's  low  communings  will  soon 
Of  Thy  dear  face  eclipse  the  light, 
And  change  my  fairest  day  to  night. 

Come  to  me  in  the  evening  shade ; 
And  if  my  heart  from  Thee  have  strayed, 
Oh !  bring  it  back,  and  from  afar 
Smile  on  me  like  Thine  evening  star. 

Come  to  me  in  the  midnight  hour ; 
When  sleep  withholds  her  balmy  power, 
Let  my  lone  spirit  find  its  rest, 
Like  John,  upon  my  Saviour's  breast. 

Come  to  me  through  life's  varied  way  ; 
And  when  its  pulses  cease  to  play, 
Then,  Saviour,  bid  me  corns  to  Thee, 
That  where  Thou  art  Thy  child  may  be. 


Gl 


LATIN  VERSION  OF  THE  FOREGOING, 

BY   REV.   JACKSON    MASON,    VICAR   OF    PICKHILL,    YORKSHIRE. 

Adsis,  0  Dornine  !  ipse  mihi,  f  ugiente  sopore, 

Dum  matutinae  vix  micuere  faces, 
Fac  subeant  menti  purissima  quasque  volenti, 

Ceu  vitrei  rores  solis  ad  usque  jubar. 

Adsis  ipse  mihi,  medii  per  tela  diei, 

Qui  timeo  mundus  sordida  quotquot  habet : 

Ne  qua  Tui  vultus  glomerent  obnoxia  luci, 

Et  mutent  nitidum  (vaB  mihi!)  nocte  diem. 

Adsis  ipse  mihi,  jam  sera  in  vesperis  umbra, 
Si  quid  aberrfirit  mens  male  fida  Tibi, 

Fac  reducem  :  longeque  Tui  sic  sideris  instar 
Tu  mihi  subridens  Hesperus  alter  eris. 

Adsis  ipse  mihi,  media  jam  noctis  in  hora, 

Somnus  ubi  refugit  nee  medicamen  habet, 

In  gremio  meditans  turn  servatoris  Ie'sus 
Alter  Ioannes  (annue  !)  pace  fruar ! 

Adsis  ipse  mihi,  per  vitae  implexa  viarum, 
Ast  ubi  cessarit  cor  trepidare  meum 

Turn  tandem  jubeas  Tibi  me,  servator,  adesse, 
Ut  possit  qua  Tu  films  esse  Tuus. 


62 
EVENING    HYMN 

THE    IIOUR    OF    PRAISE. 


My  God,  is  any  hour  so  sweet, 
From  blush  of  morn  to  evening  star, 
As  that  which  calls  me  to  Thy  feet, 
The  hour  of  prayer  ?"  * 


Ah,  Lord  !  there  is  another  hour, 
Which  higher  can  our  spirit  raise, 
Though  not  so  oft  is  felt  its  power, 
The  hour  of  praise. 

Prayer  is  the  utterance  of  want, 
And  needy  man  thus  often  prays ; 
But  gratitude,  alas !  is  scant, 
And  so  is  praise. 

Yet  'tis  a  loftier  feeling  far, 
"When  thus  to  Thee  the  soul  can  move 
For  fear  and  helplessness  are  prayer, 
But  praise  is  love. 

*  "Hymns  for  a  Week,"  by  a  Lady. 


63 


How  blest  the  moments  who  can  shew, 
"When  Thy  dear  love  its  stores  displays, 
And  all  Thy  mercies  rise  to  view, 
The  fruits  of  grace  ! 

That  love  which  gave  us  life,  and  all 
The  thousand  joys  of  life  renew'd; 
While  tears  of  holy  transport  fall, 
In  gratitude. 

When  o'er  the  breast  a  pleasure  steals, 
Soft  as  the  gentle  breath  of  even, 
Making  the  bosom  that  it  fills 
A  little  heaven. 

For  adoration  is  the  tongue 
That's  spoken  there  ;  petition  strays 
Never  from  angels'  lips ;  their  song 
Is  only  praise. 

Prayer's  for  the  wilderness,  the  war, 
The  doubt  if  we  may  be  forgiven  ; 
Earth  is  the  boundary  of  prayer  ; 
Praise  is  for  heaven. 

Then,  Lord,  is  any  hour  so  sweet, 
From  dewy  dawn  to  twilight's  rays, 
As  that  wherein  with  Thee  we  meet, 
In  hymns  of  praise  F 


64 


ON    A    FOBGET-ME-NOT, 

BENT    IN   A   LETTEK. 


But  was  it  the  flower, 
Or  was  it  the  friend, 

That  breath' d  the  petition, 
"Love  to  the  end?" 

The  same  my  rejoinder, 

Wherever  the  spot 
Thou  wert  gather' d,  fair  flower. 

"Forget  thee  I'll  not." 

And  thee,  dear  gatherer, 

Well  or  ill, 
Present  or  absent, 

I'll  love  thee  still. 


65 


THE  DELAYED  JOTJENEY, 

FROM  DARK  NIGHT   TILL   BRIGHT    MORNING. 


Oh  !  who  would  track  his  way 
Across  the  vale  and  o'er  the  hill, 
When  the  midnight  hreeze  is  chill, 
Under  clouded  skies  and  dark, 
That  veil  the  groves  and  still  the  lark, 
And  not  by  the  light  of  day  ? 

Who  would  not  rather  choose 
His  path  in  the  early  dawn, 
'Mid  melodies  of  morn ; 
The  meadows  shining  bright 
In  freshest  sunny  light, 
And  bathed  in  pearly  dews  ? 

Then,  fellow-pilgrim,  hear! 
This  world  is  growing  old, 
"Far  spent"  its  "night"  of  .cold  ; 
The  Morning  Star's  at  hand — 
Guide  to  the  heavenly  land ! 
Rise  to  thy  brighter  sphere. 

F 


66 


THE  CONSECRATION 
IN   LAMBETH  PALACE   CHAPEL, 

AUGUST  10  rn,   1851. 


Shepherd  of  souls,  Chief  Bishop  Thou ! 
Oh !  seal  that  consecration  vow : 
Prelates  and  saints  encircling  stand ; 
Lay,  now,  Thine  own  most  holy  hand 


In  fulness  pour'd  on  Thee  awhile, 
On  him  descend,  that  he  may  be 
Chief  pastor  consecrate  by  Thee. 

Heard  we  the  solemn  words  address' d, 
That  calm  response  which  told  the  breast, 
By  duty's  depths  how  deeply  stirr'd, 
At  each  enquiring,  searching  word  ? 

And  yet  a  peaceful  trust  for  strength 
Commensurate  with  duty's  length : 
The  Lord  my  Helper,  I  will  go— 
No  heights  too  high,  no  depths  too  low. 


67 


Go !  and  may  He  whom  winds  obey 
Walk  on  the  waves,  and  speed  thy  way ; 
Conduct  thee  to  that  distant  fold, 
For  purposes  as  yet  unroll' d. 

A  city  once  to  idols  giv'n 

Drew  tears  from  messenger  of  heaven : 

That  land  is  "  full  of  idols ; "  thou  wilt  grieve 

At  mis'ry  thou  canst  ill  relieve. 

Meekness  of  wisdom  in  thee  shine- 
Such  has,  in  truth,  been  ever  thine ; 
Courage  still  urging  on  its  way, 
And  zeal  admitting  no  decay. 

The  pastors  in  that  Indian  see 
A  brother-pastor  find  in  thee, 
The  scatter' d  flocks,  from  day  day, 
To  feed,  and  not  "a  wolf"  to  slay. 

What  though  its  first  chief  pastor  stay, 
Not  yet  like  prophet  caught  away  * 
In  fiery  cloud ;  his  mantle  rest 
On  thee,  and  with  his  spirit  blest. 


*  The  Right  Rev.  Bishop  Carr,  the  first  who  occupied  the  see  of  Bombay, 
and  who  preached  the  sermon  at  the  consecration  of  Dr.  Harding,  his 
successor. 


68 

A  double  portion,  as  did  ask 
Elijah's  follower,  for  his  task  ; 
Girded  with  double  power,  the  deed 
Of  his  precursor  twice  exceed. 

Lift  we  a  gentle  prayer  for  her 
"Who  goes  thy  trembling  hopes  to  share  ; 
Her  heart  desiring  to  be  lowly  great, 
Nor  e'er  with  fleeting  dignity  elate. 

"  Poor  needy  people  "  thy  joint  care — 
"  The  stranger  "  in  thy  thoughts  to  bear 
"  Gentle  and  merciful"  thy  part — 
The  rays  of  glory  of  the  meek  in  heart. 

Ere  long,  in  that  sad,  weary  land, 
His  Word  shall  prosper  in  thy  hand  ; 
And  when  thy  fainting  labours  cease, 
He'll  call  thee  to  depart  in  peace  ; 
And  from  a  star  in  this  our  lower  sky, 
Shall  fix  thee  in  His  firmament  on  high. 


6\) 


"QUIS    SEPABABIT?" 

MOTTO    ON    THE    STEAMER     "  SULTAN  "     AT    THE 

EMBARKATION    OF   THE   BISHOP   OF   BOMBAY, 

OCTOBER  20th,  1851. 


Ah  !  dost  thou,  then,  thou  gallant  ship, 

Not  only  rend  affection's  ties, 

But  coldly  offer  to  our  lip 

Thy  cup  of  blighting  mockeries. 

A  plank  unites  thee  to  our  strand, 

A  moment — and  'tis  gone  for  ever : 

How  may  we  on  that  footway  stand  ? 

How  canst  thou  challenge,  "Who  shall  sever  ?" 

Loos'ning  e'en  now  thy  giant  wheel, 
To  dash  the  waters  with  its  foam, 
Why  bid  us,  as  unbroken,  feel 
The  bliss  of  country  and  of  home  ? 

'Tis  thy  own  prow  will  cleave  the  main, 
And  breast  thy  course  amid  the  deep, 
Till  from  our  gaze,  prolong' d  in  vain, 
Thou  fad'st  like  vision  of  our  sleep. 


70 


On,  on !  thou  bearest  from  our  shore 
Sister  and  brother  deeply  lov'd — 
India's  last  consecrate ;  no  more 
To  meet,  by  tropic  far  remov'd. 

And  yet  there  is  a  golden  chain, 
Its  first  link  on  a  Saviour's  throne, 
Let  down  to  earth  to  lift  again, 
Binding  all  Christian  hearts  in  one. 

Ask  we  its  name  ?  a  Saviour's  love ; 
Its  form  ?  His  bow  as  emerald  bright ; 
Its  source  ?  His  gentle  seat  above ; 
Its  span  ?  o'er  all  His  Church  in  light. 

Yes ;  distant  half  a  world  away — 
Where'er  His  saints  dispers'd  are  led, 
This  heavenly  arch  still  plants  its  ray, 
And  blends  its  beauties  o'er  their  heads. 

New  brethren  now  thy  counsel  seek, 
But  thy  dear  Church  is  still  the  same ; 
New  stars  in  thy  horizon  break, 
Yet  'tis  our  Sun  that  shines  on  them. 

This,  this  th'  inseparable  bond 
Which  neither  seas  nor  space  can  sever- 
One  Father's,  Brother's,  home  is  found, 
His  Spirit  in  us  all  for  ever. 


■■■■■■■■■■■RS1E 

ON  A  SUNBEAM   IN  THE   CHUECH    AT 
MUSWELL    HILL, 

IN  THE   MIDST   OF   WHICH   THE   CROSSBEAMS    OF    THE 
ROOF  AFTERWARDS   CAST   THEIR   SHADOW. 


Hail  !  beauteous  beam  of  light, 
Cheering  our  gladden' d  sight : 
Whence  dost  thou  lowly  fall 
Thus  on  our  church's  wall  ? 
Why  hast  thou  sped  along 
The  worshippers  among, 
On  this  our  festal  day  ? 
Thy  heavenly  errand  say. 

A  golden  leaf  wert  thou 
On  the  tree  of  life,  till  now, 
Trefoil  of  glory,  dropt  below, 
Some  thought  of  paradise  to  shew  ? 


72 

Or  doth  the  Prince  of  Light  amorg  the  blest 
Hold  out  His  sceptre,  that  the  radiant  crest 
Of  that  bright  rod,  His  suppliants,  we 
May  touch  it,  and  our  prayers  may  answer'd  be. 

Or  what  if  thou  art  one 
Of  those  before  His  throne, 
Dwelling  in  light,  yet  drawing  near 
To  our  sin- darken' d  sphere ; 
Joyous  our  peace  to  bring 
Upon  thy  bright-plum' d  wing, 
And  shaking  off  a  ray, 
To  tell  of  heavenly  day. 

But  now  thou  movest  fast, 

And  lo !  a  shadow  cast 

Upon  thy  radiant  path. 

That  sacred  form  it  hath 

That  speaks  of  Him  who  died — 

Sign  of  the  crucified ! 

No  marvel  that  it  move 

All  hearts  with  sweet  surprise  and  holy  love. 

Ah !  see  we  plainly  now 
Why  these  fair  glories  shew. 
His  pierced  hands  for  human  strife 
Pluck  healing  leaves  from  the  tree  of  life. 
The  scorn'd,  forsaken,  outcast,  He, 
That  the  adopted  we  might  be ; 
Our  joy,  His  grief;  our  gain,  His  loss  ; 
Our  light,  the  shadow  of  His  Cross ! 
October  2Mh,  1851. 


EASTEE    DAY. 

THOUGHTS    IN    SICKNESS. 


The  Church's  voice  is  echoing  round, 
On  every  spot  of  hallow' d  ground — 
"  The  Lord  is  ris'n,  the  Lord  is  ris'n ! " 
Unbarr'd  the  rock,  unseal'd  the  pris'n. 

How  sad  to-day — I  may  not  rise 
To  join  the  grateful  sacrifice ; 
But  still  upon  my  weary  bed, 
In  languishing  must  lay  my  head. 

I've  watch'd  the  Sun  his  glories  pour, 
Unlock  his  eastern  chamber  door ; 
And  now  he  lets  his  western  ray 
Along  the  purple  valley  play. 

But  while  I  track' d  his  path  of  light, 
Visions  have  come  upon  my  sight ; 
Such  as  oft  cheer  the  sick  man's  room, 
And  radiate  its  thickest  gloom. 


74 

The  boundless  love  of  Him  who  died, 
The  sufferings  of  the  Crucified ; 
His  holy  face  with  sorrows  wet, 
"  His  agony  and  bloody  sweat." 

"  His  cross  and  passion,  precious  death 
"  And  burial,"  the  conquering  breath ; 
His  "glorious  resurrection"  cry  : 
"  0  grave  !  where  now  thy  victory  ?  " 

My  cross  how  light !  and  at  my  side 
Affection's  form  so  oft  descried, 
With  holy  Gospel ;  faith  to  turn 
To  glories  of  the  Easter  Morn. 

Such  had  not  He !    In  His  dark  day 
Lover  and  friend  had  hid  away ; 
Yet  more,  His  piteous  plaint  of  woe : 
"  My  God !  hast  Thou  forsaken  too  ?  " 

My  ris'n  Lord,  be  very  near 

To  sanctify  me  lying  here ; 

Earth's  cere  bands  wrapt  around  me  tear 

Away,  and  lift  my  spirit  where 

Thyself  didst  go,  when  left  Thy  tomb, 
Thy  Father's  and  Thy  Church's  home ; 
From  Him  the  Comforter  to  bring, 
And  make  that  Church,  poor,  soiled  thing, 
Fair  as  the  dove,  with  silver  wing. 


75 

So  shall  my  lonely  Easter  Day, 
A  purer  bliss  to  me  convey, 
Than  all  my  fifty  "brightly  spent, 
When  with  the  multitude  I  went 

With  joy  our  festal  day  to  keep, 

Upon  our  Zion's  sacred  steep ; 

The  body  weak,  the  spirit  strong, 

For  earth  a  passing  sigh,  for  heav'n  a  lasting  song, 

April  11th,  1852. 


76 


AN  INCIDENT   ON  YORK   ORESCENT, 

CLIFTON,    1852. 


The  incident  was  this :— As  we  returned  from  our  walk,  my  companion 
discovered  his  wife  and  daughter,  evidently  much  fatigued,  at  some  distance 
before  him,  entering  their  house ;  but  as  soon  as  he  called  out,  life  and 
animation  marked  every  feature,  and  they  forgot  their  fatigue  to  join  him. 


A  wearied  lamb  at  eventide, 

The  sunny  fields  forsaking, 
Its  gentle  mother  at  its  side, 

Slow  for  the  fold  was  making. 

When  lo !  behind  a  voice  was  heard, 
With  kindly  summons  greeting  ; 

It  was  the  shepherd's  well-known  word, 
With  joy  they  turn  to  meet  him. 

Dear  are  of  home  the  varied  joys, 

The  loving  inmates  rather ; 
Such  ever  be  to  us  His  voice, 

Who  bids  us  call  Him  "  Father." 

Swift  at  His  every  call  our  step, 
His  will,  of  our's  the  centre  ; 

Whether  He  send  us  o'er  the  deep, 
Or  now  our  home  to  enter. 


77 


THEODOEE'S    BIETHDAY, 

NOVEMBER  15,   1851— JZTAT.  7. 


My  dear  Theodore, 
I've  not  written  before 
For  want  of  due  leisure  ; 
But  now  I've  the  pleasure 
To  wish  you  to-morrow 
All  joy  and  no  sorrow — 
Keep  the  day  of  your  birth 
With  innocent  mirth. 

To  further  this  end, 

Mama  and  I  send 

A  basket  of  fruit, 

That  your  palate  may  suit ; 

And  a  box  of  nice  tools 

To  amuse  you  when  school's 

Time  of  study  is  done, 

And  the  play  hours  begun. 

Only  don't  make  much  noise 

With  these  too  tempting  toys. 


78 

But  aim  to  produce 

Work  good  and  of  use, 

As  we  know  you  are  able, 

A  chair,  or  a  table, 

A  crane,  or  a  boat, 

To  lift  or  to  float, 

Or  some  other  thing 

Which  your  fancy  may  bring. 


A  playmate  we  know 
Has  a  present  to  shew 
Of  beautiful  bricks, 
And  has  learnt  how  to  fix 
Them  in  arches  and  towers, 
And  thus  the  play'hours 
Not  to  squander  in  vain 
But  instruction  to  gain. 

Now  take  a  word  more 
Than  what's  said  before : 
Try  that  every  tool 
Suggest  a  good  Rule. 
If  pride  lift  its  crown, 
Then  hammer  it  down  ; 
Or  rough  tempers  gain, 
Smooth  them  with  the  plane. 
Or  idleness  grow, 
Saiv  it  off,  or  right  through. 


79 

But  if  some  morning  should 
A  habit  that's  good 
Tass  by  your  way, 
By  all  means  make  it  stay ; 
Coax  it  into  your  box, 
And  fasten  the  locks  ; 
You'll  thus  hit,  as  is  said, 
The  right  nail  on  the  head. 

This,  my  boy,  if  you  learn 
A  most  happy  return 
You'll  ensure,  if  alive 
On  the  fifteenth  this  month, 
One  eight  fifty-five. 

Thus  wishes,  the  rather, 
Your  affectionate  father, 
Which  he  ever  will  be, 
As  you  know,  H.  V.  T. 


80 


ALMONERS  of  a  CEETAIN  EOYAL  HOSPITAL, 

OR  INSTITUTION  FOR  EDUCATION, 

WHO  OPPOSED  THE  IMPROVEMENTS  SUGGESTED  BY  A 
NEW  MASTER. 


A  bevy  of  owls  in  Prince  Edward's  Tow'r 

For  many  an  age  held  sway  ; 
The  clust'ring  ivy  form'd  their  bow'r, 

And  wisdom's  birds  were  they. 

• 

Old  Warder  Rice,  with  honied  words, 
Had  flatter' d  each  favourite  owl ; 

So  they  grew  to  think  they  were  royal  birds, 
To  the  scorn  of  meaner  fowl. 

But  time  fled  on,  and  the  Warder  died, 
While  the  ivy  thicken'd  apace  ; 

Then  Yorkshire  Jacob  they  beckon' d  aside 
To  take  the  Warder's  place. 


SI 


Xow  Jacob  lov'd  light,  which  the  owls  did  not 
And  he  saw  in  the  keep  there  was  room 

For  many  a  goodly  tree  to  fruit, 
And  beautiful  flower  to  bloom. 

►So  he  cut  the  thick  of  the  bushes  away, 

The  brambles  and  nettles  too  ; 
And  the  heirs  of  the  tow'r  hailed  the  day, 

For  what  Jacob  was  going  to  do. 

But  the  old  owls  ruffled  each  speckled  plume, 

And  sharpen' d  each  horny  bill, 
Screaming  "  Unfit !  "  as  Jacob's  doom 

A  "Warder's  place  to  fill. 

Meantime  the  heirs  of  the  royal  mews 

Sigh'd  o'er  their  blinking  sight, 
Eememb'ring  who  are  said  to  choose 

Darkness  as  better  than  light. 


82 


ON  THE  GRAVE  IN 
FRIERN  BARNET  CHURCHYARD 


Our  dear  Anna's  request— "Lay  me,  dear  mother,  in  Eome  quiet  church- 
yard ;  put  a  plain  white  cross  upon  my  grave,  with  the  words,  '  Accepted  in 
the  Beloved,' "  and  (after  pausing),  "  '  God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner.'  " 


Have  we  not  fulfill'd 
Thy  last  most  touching  charge  ?     Through  all  the  land 
Is  any  spot  more  peaceful  to  he  found  ? 
Near  is  no  dwelling  but  the  house  of  God, 
Or  sleeping  places  of  the  silent  ones ; 
No  voice  is  heard  but  our  own  whisperings, 
And  the  soft  hymn  of  birds. 
There  is  the  plain  white  cross  thou  didst  desire ; 
There,  at  its  foot,  we  gently  laid  thy  head ; 
Upon  its  marble  base  thy  chosen  words, 
Telling  thy  hope  and  thy  humility — 
"  Accepted  "  in  the  Saviour  thou  hast  lov'd ; 
"  God  be  to  me,  a  sinner,  merciful :  " 
This,  thy  first  step  in  Christian  pilgrimage ; 
That,  the  bright  radiance  of  thy  latest  hour. 


u 

a: 
o 


w 


83 


We  did  no  more,  save  to  record  thy  name 

Upon  the  marble  tablet  at  thy  feet  ; 

Thy  youth,  the  day  thou  took'st  thy  upward  flight.* 

The  shadowing  elm  will  drop  a  funeral  pall 

Each  Autumn ;  but  the  next  following  Spring 

Throw  it  aside,  that  wild  flowers  may  break  forth, 

To  tell  of  resurrection  life. 

Oft  as  we  read,  our  tears  again  will  flow ; 

Yet  for  thy  sake,  our  sorrows  turn  to  joy, 

And  both  will  prompt  the  prayer,  "  May  all 

Follow  thy  patience  in  affliction's  hour, 

And  reach  the  glory  of  thy  final  day." 

This  was  thine  own  most  loving  cherished  wish — 

"  Come  to  me,  mother  dear,  in  that  bright  land ; 

And  you,  too,  brothers."     Then  thy  failing  breath 

Could  only  utter  one  sweet,  gentle  wish 

Of  parting  blessing  for  us  all. 

Last  we  heard 
Those  words  above  all  value — "Jesus  !  Peace  !" 


How  close  our  memory  its  embraces  flings 
Around  last  words  of  lov'd  ones  that  are  gone ! 
Not  with  a  firmer  clasp  the  ivy  clings 
To  forest  tree  or  to  the  churchyard  stone. 

•  Anna  Elizabeth  Tebb.«.     Died  3rd  February,  1857  ;  aged  19  years. 


84 
THE    FIEST    BIRTHDAY 

AFTER  "FEBRUARY  3,  1857. • 


We  keep  it  still ! 

Yes,  mark  it,  still, 

Our  heart's  affections  will ; 
Although,  thy  silent  room  and  vacant  chair 
Too  oft  have  told  us  that  thou  art  not  there. 

Some  of  our  band  recall, 

In  fondest  memory,  all 
The  sweet  endearments  of  thy  earliest  days, 
Thy  merry  hearted  laugh  and  loving  ways. 

Upon  thy  playful  brow 

(We  seem  to  see  it  now), 
The  flow'ry  wreath  thy  elder  sisters  bound, 
And  on  thy  birthday  thee,  their  "  May  Queen,"  crown'd. 

Then,  innocently  wild, 

Thou  wert  a  happy  child ; 
Rosy  thy  cheek,  and  brightly  blue  thine  eye, 
All,  all  was  joyous  from  thine  infancy. 

But  years  roll'd  on, 

Those  pleasures  flown, 
And  in  their  place  came  sickness,  pains,  and  fears, 
The  wasting  of  disease,  with  solitary  tears. 

•  12M  May,  1857. 


85 


A  bruised  lily  then ! 

Thy  drooping  head  was  seen ; 
Yet  if  tho  rose  had  fled  thy  youthful  cheek, 
Thy  Saviour  shed  on  thee  His  spirit  meek. 

Quicker  than  sufferings  past 

Thy  graces  ripen' d  fast. 
"We  little  knew  thy  sky  was  so  serene, 
Star  after  star  in  thy  dark  night  was  seen. 

Thy  latest  hours  thy  best, 

Thy  sweetest  words  addrest 
To  lov'd  ones,  calm,  though  sorrowing,  around, 
So  bright  the  haven  whither  thou  wert  bound. 

"You'll  not  live  always  here, 
Come  to  me,  mother  dear ; 
And  you,  too,  brothers,  all  of  you,  above, 
Come  to  the  better  land,  the  land  of  love." 

Waiting,  if  other  word 
Might  that  last  hour  be  heard, 
Ere  yet  the  breathings  of  thy  spirit  cease, 
We  list  thy  holy  whisper— "Jesus !  Peace ! " 

Then  the  good  Shepherd,  o'er  thy  fainting  frame, 
Stoop'd  down,  and  took  thee  as  His  folded  lamb. 

No  more  our  wonted  birthday  gifts  we  bring, 
But  our  hearts  ever  fondly  round  thee  cling  ; 
And  while  thou  wearest  there  thy  brighter  crown, 
We'll  strive  to  follow  where  thy  spirit's  flown. 


86 


STEPHEN'S    THOUGHTS, 

ON  FINDING  THE  LETTERS  S.  N.  T.  TRACED  IN  THE  SNOW. 


East  wind,  thou  art  keen  this  wint'ry  eve  ; 

On  my  homeward  path  I  go  ; 
Yet  stay,  let  me  turn  once  more  to  view 

Thy  beautiful  mound  of  snow. 

Thou  hast  rais'd  it  on  columns  of  pearly  drift, 

But  what  on  its  side  do  I  see  ? 
Three  well-known  letters  I've  often  writ, 

My  very  own,  S.  N.  T. 

How  they  came  there  I  must  understand 

In  Robinson  Crusoe  style, 
When  he  saw  the  footprints  upon  the  sand 

Of  his  lonely  desert  isle. 

His  fellow  man  had  been  there  he  knew, 

And  he  felt  he  was  not  alone ; 
Thus  a  friend  has  sped  before  me  to-day, 

And  his  thought  of  me  made  known. 


87 


And  what  would  he  bid  my  roving  thoughts 

In  these  triple  ciphers  trace  ? 
Marking  them  thus  on  the  snowy  bank. 

In  this  conspicuous  place. 

"  Start  Not,  Traveller !  "  bright  as  appears 

Thy  registered  name  to-day ; 
"  Soon  Nothing  There ! "  'tis  a  brightness  of  earth 

Which  to-morrow  will  melt  away. 

Then  let  me  resolve,  said  my  Stephen  son, 
With  his  Nottidge  sponsor's  name  : 

That  with  two  such  lives  in  the  Church  as  their' s 
I  should  earnestly  follow  the  same. 

The  first  of  the  martyrs  is  gone  to  his  crown, 

My  father's  friend  to  his  rest ; 
As  their  names  I  bear,  may  I  strive  to  share 

Their  joy  in  the  land  of  the  blest. 

March  3rd,  1858. 


88 


ON  THE  DIALOGUE  BETWEEN 
EABBI  ELIEZEE  AND  EABBI  JOSEPH, 


"  Say,  Christian  Pastor,  art  not  sad 
Dwelling  in  home  of  taste, 
To  see  with  ivy  mantle  clad 

The  Church  of  God  lie  waste  P" 

"  Nay,  friend,  tho'  'tis  a  mournful  truth, 
It  has  not  been  my  doing, 
Old  Father  Time's  decaying  tooth, 
Has  made  my  Church  a  ruin. 

"  Come  with  me,  to  th'  adjacent  lands, 
See  there  against  the  skies, 
The  work  of  many  gen'rous  hands, 
Another  Temple  rise." 

Thus  Rabbi  Eliezer  met 

On  Olive's  sacred  steep, 
The  Rabbi  Joseph,  dewy  wet 

His  eye.     "  Why  dost  thou  weep  P  " 


89 


"I  weep  to  see  the  Prophet's  threat— 
1  Foxes  run  o'er  her  hill.' 
/joy,  for  brighter  visions  greet, 
Reserved  for  glory  still. 

11  Wait  yet,  'tis  but  a  little  while, 
And  on  this  barren  soil, 
The  fruitful  vineyard  yet  shall  smile, 
To  glad  the  tiller's  toil." 

And  tho'  on  all  around  I  see 

Sorrow  and  sad  decay ; 
Tho'  friends  I  loved  are  gone  from  me, 

Hope  waits  the  promised  day. 

Their  forms  like  broken  arches  lie,1 

The  fair,  the  good,  the  wise ; 
Yet  on  the  winged  moments  fly, 
Soon  shall  be  heard  th'  Archangel's  cry- 
•  In  Jesu's  image  rise.' 


90 


THE    BIRTHDAY    OF    1859, 

MARCH  16th. 


Oh  !  who  would  say  that  cheerful  face, 
Which  frown  nor  furrow  wears, 

In  such  a  world  hath  held  its  place 
For  half  a  hundred  years. 

Yet  so  it  is :  and  now  this  day, 
Husband  and  children  meet, 

Of  fond  affection  the  display, 
Thy  jubilee  to  greet. 

For  more  than  half  thy  lengthen' d  life, 
In  thousand  anxious  cares, 

We've  seen  thee  still  the  loving  wife, 
We've  heard  thy  mother  prayers. 

One  bless'd  thee  who  has  fled  above ; 

And  we,  with  chasten' d  mirth, 
Bring  thee  our  offerings  of  love, 

To  celebrate  thy  birth. 

May  every  year  add  large  increase 
Of  health,  and  peace,  and  joy ; 

Till  thou  art  led  where  sorrows  cease, 
In  bliss  without  allow 


91 


THE 

LOST    EETICULE,    WITH    NOTE-BOOK, 
PURSE,    &c. 

RECOVERED   AND   RESTORED   BY   A   STRANGER, 
SATURDAY  BEFORE  PASSION  WEEK,  1859. 


Lady,  when  thou  took'st  thy  way 

O'er  the  breezy  hill, 
In  thy  path  thou  knew'st  there  lay 

Much  with  delight  to  fill— 

The  flowerets  wild,  the  gorse's  bloom, 

The  sound  of  ocean  wave ; 
With  thought,  mayhap,  about  Sis  tomb, 

Who  died  and  rose  to  save. 

Thou  could' st  not  know  that  on  yon  clifl' 
Thy  steps  would  bring  in  view 

A  stranger's  loss,  a  valued  gift, 
Treasure  and  trouble  too. 


92 


Three  youths,  three  Christian  sisters  sought 

Their  pathway  to  retrace ; 
But  thine  the  triumph— thou  hast  brought 

The  treasure  to  its  place. 

Griefs  oft  to  brighter. pleasures  join, 
And  well  nigh  lose  their  pain ; 

The  one  stray  sheep,  the  one  lost  coin, 
The  son  restor'd  again.* 

O'er  these  we  holier  tears  employ 

Than  erst  in  home  or  fold — 
The  shepherd's,  housewife's,  father's  joy — 

The  lost  once  more  to  hold. 

Such  joy  is  thine,  is  ours,  this  day ; 

Strangers  when  it  awoke, 
Forth  from  our  several  homes  away, 

One  common  path  wo  took. 

Strangers,  at  least  in  heart,  no  more, 
Kindness  has  made  thee  friend ; 

The  love  which  led  thee  to  restore, 
Rest  with  us  to  life's  end. 

*  Luke  xv. 


93 


THE    ANSWER    OF    THE    LADY 

(since  deceased). 


0  Lady,  'twas  a  happy  hour, 

When  by  the  deep  blue  sea, 

My  wand'ring  path  I  listless  wound, 

Thy  lov'd  and  treasur'd  loss  I  found; 

A  happy  hour  for  me. 

Happy  for  others  too,  on  whom, 
Wearied  with  sick'ning  pain, 
Sweet  as  descends  the  grateful  show'r 
On  parched  plain,  or  thirsty  flow'r, 
Thy  bounty  sheds  its  rain. 

Happy  for  thee,  perchance ;  the  hand 

That  freely  showers  down, 
In  charity  to  the  oppress' d 
Belief  to  human  hearts  distress' d, 

Shall  wear  a  glorious  grown. 


94 


FOR    DEAE    THEODOEE 

APRIL  2,    1860. 


Violets  are  very  sweet 

Hanging  down  their  modest  head, 
Where  the  clust'ring  leaflets  meet 

In  the  garden's  shady  bed. 

Sweeter  far  the  loving  thought 

That,  unask'd  those  flowers  to  gather, 
With  gentle  step  the  posy  brought 

To  the  sick  room  of  a  father. 


MATTHEW  X.  16. 

Ut  nulli  nocuisse  velis,  imitarc  columbam  ; 
Serpentem,  ut  possit  nemo  noccre  tibi. 

That  thou  may  est  injure  no  one,  dove-like  be 
And  serpent-like,  that  none  may  injure  thee. 


do 


ON  ME.   HOLMAN  HUNT'S   PICTURE, 

"  THE  FINDING  THE  SAVIOUR  IN  THE  TEMPLE." 


'Tis  not  that  gorgeous  Temple  rich  with  gold, 

Its  sparkling  gems  of  light ; 
Lattice,  nor  marble  floor — not  these  that  hold 

Our  joy  entranced  sight. 

Not  e'en  that  solemn  council  of  the  sage 

Teachers  of  holy  law ; 
Howe'er  unto  the  hoary  head  of  age 

We  lowly  bend  in  awe. 

No — 'tis  that  mother  and  her  wondrous  Child 
"  Three  days  in  sorrowing  sought ;  " 

Whom  "hidden  wisdom"  from  her  side  beguil'd, 
When  to  that  Temple  brought. 

Next  to  a  Saviour's  is  a  mother's  love, 

And  both  are  present  there ! 
Softer  than  pinion  of  the  silver  dove, 

Eesting  on  evening  air, 

Is  gently  laid  that  youthful  hand  on  hers, 

As  gently  her's  on  His  ; 
Each  meekest  aspect  of  submission  wears, 

In  mingled  grief  and  bliss. 


96 


Why,  as  He  listens  to  her  mild  rebuke, 

His  half- averted  eye  ? 
Within,  His  Spirit  kens  Another's  look, 

The  Unseen  standing  by. 

0,  blessed  Mary !  surely  thou  should' st  know 

"His  Father's  work"  had  come 
E'en  in  His  youth;  yet  will  He  meekly  go 

Back  to  thy  lowly  home. 

Marvel  of  wisdom !  height  of  self-control ! 

Saviour  at  once,  and  Son ! 
Thou  art  the  Temple's  golden  glory  whole, 

Its  "precious  corner  stone !  " 

Judah's  long  day  in  gloomy  cloud  may  set, 

Her  patriarch  Lights  may  pale ; 
Twelve  brighter  stars  arise  ; — more  glorious  yet 
That  Sun,  where  light  and  love  for  ever  met 
No  shadowings  assail ! 

Joy  to  the  skilful  hand  that  thus  conveys 

Triumph  of  purest  art ; 
Scenes  radiant  with  its  lov'd  Redeemer's  praise, 

Holier  to  make  the  heart. 

If  but  that  heart  unto  life's  eventido 

Near  to  His  presence  move ; 
As  to  her  window  at  the  Temple  side 

Hastens  the  eastern  dove. 


4/jn717f/i,  I860. 


97 


TO   MY   FOUE   DEAE   GEAND-DAUGHTEES, 

IN   ACKNOWLEDGMENT   OF   THEIR   FOUR   LETTERS, 

"WRITTEN   ON    MY   BIRTHDAY,    APRIL   10, 

AND   RECEIVED,    AT   CANNES,    ON  EASTER    DAY, 


What  Easter  gift  is  here  ? 

Four  letters !  writ 
All  on  one  sheet !  so  fair,  so  clear, 

Each  word  so  fit ! 

Dear  loves  !  four  gentle  streams 

Of  joy  you've  pour'd  ; 
We  think  of  you  in  waking  dreams, 

Euth,  Olive,  Alice,  Maud. 

Your  home  life  lies  before 

Our  gladden' d  sight ; 
"  Flowers  !  "  "  toys !  "  and  "  rabbits,  four  !  " 

"  One  black,  three  white." 

The  useful  set  of  tools, 

"  Hoe,  rake,  and  spade," 
"  The  baby-house,"  "  four  lights," 

With  each  "  a  maid." 

Your  pretty  writing  brings, 

As  well  it  ought, 
Four,  and  more  other  things, 

Into  my  thought. 


98 

Foui'  winds  from  Heaven  blow, 

North,  south,  east,  west ; 
They  rough  or  softly  go, 

As  God  sees  best. 

Four  waters  gird  our  Isle, 

Four  oceans  span 
Four  quarters  of  the  globe ; 

Four  ages,  man. 

Four  seasons  make  the  year, 

Autumn  and  spring, 
Summer  and  winter — near 

All  pleasures  bring. 

Four  beauteous  rivers  flow'd 

Through  Eden's  bow'rs, 
Cooling  its  air,  and  like  a  cloud, 

"Wat'ring  its  fiow'rs. 

Evangelists  were  four- 
Matthew,  Mark,  Luke, 

And  John  belov'd,  who  from  the  Lord 
His  message  took. 

The  golden  city  on  the  hill 

Is  built  four  square, 
That,  thro'  some  gate  of  pearl,  who  will 

May  enter  there. 


99 


EPITAPH   ON   OLD   FAVOUBITE    "JESSIE," 

BUEIED  BY  THE  YEW  TREE,  BONCHURCH. 


Stay,  traveller !  as  thou  look'et  on  me 

My  simple  tale  to  trace ; 
A  common  yew  tree  I  may  be, 

But  in  no  common  place. 

Each  morn  my  branches  will  be  wet 
With  tear-drops  as  they  wave  ; 

For  'neath  the  mound  on  which  I'm  set 
Is  faithful  Jessie's  grave. 

And  all  within  the  house  are  mov'd, 
Their  grief  with  mine  to  blend  ; 

For  Jessie  was  to  all  en  dear'  d, 

But  chief,  the  children's  friend. 

Full  twice  seven  years  it  was  her  praise, 
Her  ready  strength  to  place, 

For  pannier,  saddle,  or  for  chaise  ; 
Most  docile  of  her  race. 


100 

Illness  or  want  she  never  knew, 

Till  on  one  fatal  day, 
She  cropp'd  the  berries  of  that  yew  ; 

Their  poison  worked  its  way. 

How  priz'd,  how  mourn' d,  may  here  be  seen 

The  lawn  her  grave  to  be, 
Her  monument  an  evergreen, 

This  yew,  a  beacon  tree. 

And  thus  each  morn  my  branches  wet 
With  tear-drops  as  they  wave, 

Bedew  the  mound  on  which  I'm  set, 
The  faithful  Jessie's  grave. 

0,  traveller !  whosoe'er  thou  be, 
When  to  thy  grave  thou  come, 

Be  it  as  truly  said  of  thee, 

"  Faithful"  upon  thy  tomb. 


101 


THE  COMET   OF   1861. 


How  beautiful  is  it  as  evenings  pale, 
The  sight  of  that  star  -with  its  wondrous  tail ; 
A  comet  they  call  it,  for  high  up  there 
It  "tracks  its  flight  as  with  flowing  hair. 

But  who  shall  tell  what  it  really  is  ? — 
Some  bright-robed  seraph  from  realms  of  bliss ; 
Or  is  it,  fierce  rushing,  a  burning  world, 
For  the  sins  of  its  people  to  ruin  hurl'd  ? 

Or  can  it  be  rather  some  precious  stone 
From  the  pavement  of  sapphire  beneath  the  throne, 
To  shew  how  resplendent  those  courts  of  light, 
When  the  dust  of  the  footstool  shines  so  bright  ? 

But  whatever  its  mission  we  need  not  fear, 
For  we  know  the  Being  that  sent  it  there ; 
And  these  flaming  orbs  at  His  guidance  move : 
Mercy  with  Majesty  blend  above— 
Though  His  arm  be  power,  His  name  is  love. 

Ti'N'bridge  WkLLS,  July  2nd. 


102 


TO  ONE  WHO  ASKED  FOE  SOME  MEMOEIAL 
OE  THE  SUNSETS  AT  MONTAUBAN. 


Is  there  a  doubt  if  memory  retain 
Those  beauteous  visions  from  thy  terrac'd  plain, 
Bright  Montauban  !  when  every  evening  tide, 
We  watch' d  the  setting  Sun  his  glories  hide  ? 

Oh !  how  can  I  forget  such  gorgeous  rays, 
As  gather' d  round  the  evenings  of  those  days  ? 
When  the  grand  orb  of  light  his  chariot  roll'd, 
Rich  with  the  hues  of  azure,  crimson,  gold  ; 

Beneath  thy  hills,  and  ere  he  sank  to  rest, 
Mirror' d  his  image  on  the  glassy  breast 
Of  thy  fair  river,  gentle  in  its  flow  ; 
A  sun  above  us,  and  a  sun  below. 

Light,  more  than  this,  wo  found  in  that  good  land, 
We  enter'd  "  Pilgrims,"  but  a  Christian  band 
Made  us  no  longer  "  Strangers,"  bid  us  prove 
The  light  of  Montauban,  the  light  of  love. 

January,  16C2. 


103 


TO  ONE  WHO  WROTE  AS  FOLLOWS 


"  We  all  thank  you  for  the  lines  on  the  Sunsets  at  ilontauban  ;  but  was 
it  the  sunset,  or  was  it  the  Lady  who  asked  for  the  lines,  that  so  stirred  your 
Muse  ? " 


"  Now  was  it  the  lady,  or  was  it  the  sun, 
That  awaken'd  the  slumbering  lyre  ?  " — 

Oh  cruellest,  subtlest  question  ;  yet  one 
Which  seems  a  response  to  require. 

Why  doubt  that  in  verity,  'twas  the  old  Sun, 

And  not  the  young  lady,  howe'er 
Persuasive  her  claim — for  what  he  has  done 

Speaks  louder  than  even  the  fair. 

He  shines  on  us,  warms  us ;  and  scenes  that  he  paints 

In  brightest  of  colours  are  drest ; 
That  without  him  the  world  would  be  full  of  complaints 

By  all  the  wide  world  is  confest. 

And  yet  he  can  scorch  us,  or  dart  on  the  head 

A  deadly  and  fiery  beam  ; 
Or  draw  up  the  pestilence  over  the  me:;d, 

And  make  it  a  plague  spot  to  seem. 


104 

He  once  was  so  thirsty,  that  stooping  to  drink, 
He  so  shamelessly  sinn'd  against  taste 

As  to  drain  from  a  poet  his  last  drop  of  ink, 
And  scatter  his  fancies  to  waste.  * 


The  Sun  has  his  spots  then  ;  yes,  more  than  one  spot, 

And  to  sum  his  defects  as  a  whole, 
There  is  one  thing  he  lacks,  which  tho  lady  lacks  not, 

Tho'  glorious,  he  has  not  a  soul. 

And  one  claim  to  our  verse  she  was  known  to  possess, 

Which  never  rejected  could  he  ; 
That  in  the  dark  day  of  our  gloom  and  distress, 

Her  light  it  was  led  us  to  thee. 

No  marvel,  then,  if  when  we  saw  the  sun  set, 
In  the  "brightest  of  Montauban's  skies, 

And  the  lady's  request  for  a  lyric  was  met, 
Some  thoughts  of  the  lady  should  rise. 

«  Cowper's  Poem  to  Apollo. 


105 


HYEEES. 


Town  of  the  golden  isles, 

Circling  thy  seven  palms  ; 

Thou  seems'tto  us  a  maid  all  smiles, 
Proud  in  thy  conscious  charms. 

Grand  in  thy  mountain  wall ; 

Thy  Tower  was  on  a  rock ; 
Long  haughtily  defying  all, 

Till  storms  its  glory  "broke. 

A  greater  joy  was  thine, 

Unto  the  Church  to  raise 
Great  Masillon,  and  now  design 

The  marble  to  his  praise. 

Thy  hermitage,  thy  hill, 

Clothed  with  its  olive  grove, 

Yielding  to  us  those  plants  which  still 
A  constant  pleasure  prove. 

Glorious  thy  golden  isles ! 

Graceful  thy  waving  palms  ! 
Thou  greeted  us  with  sunny  smiles — 

With  sighs  we  leave  thy  charms, 

January,  18G2. 


106 


THE   BIETHDAY,    MAECH    16,    1862, 

"WITH   A   BOX    OF    COLOURS. 


'Tis  thrice  ten  years  and  two,  love, 
Since  dear  old  England's  isle 

We  quitted  first  to  journey  ;  how 
All  nature  seem'd  to  smile ! 

In  brightest  colours  deck'd,  love, 
Rose  every  scene  in  view ; 

Earth  was  in  gayest  green  array' d, 
The  skies  in  deepest  blue. 

In  crimson  hues  each  sun  arose, 

And  set  in  purple  glow ; 
So  happily  we  travell'd  on ; — 

Would  it  be  always  so  ? 

Ah !  griefs  and  sorrows  since,  love, 
Have  shaded  o'er  the  scene  ; 

And  hills  and  valleys  mostly  now 
In  neutral  tints  are  seen. 

But  wo  have  learnt  to  hope,  love, 
The  brightest  at  the  end  ; 

To  span  the  clouds  with  that  fair  bow 
Where  all  the  colours  blend. 


107 


THE  FEEEY  BOAT  AT  BASLE. 


O  ferryman  !  0  ferryman  ! 

I've  watch' d  thee  all  the  day, 
Trailing  thy  little  bark  across, 

With  awning  bright  and  gay. 

How  many  different  travellers 

Thou  hast  carried  to  each  shore ; 

Some  old,  some  young  and  merry, 
Now  two,  now  half-a-score. 

But  ferryman !  0  ferryman ! 

Dost  know  there  is  river, 
O'er  which  thou  must  be  carried, 

If  thou  would' st  live  for  ever  ? 

0  ferryman !  the  waters 

Are  rough,  and  dark,  and  chill ; 
Some  do  not  cross  them  happily, 

Yet  all  may  if  they  will. 

The  stream  is  death,  0  ferryman ! 

"Would' st  thou  go  safely  o'er  ? 
Then  hold  thee  to  thy  Saviour, 

For  He  has  cross' d  before. 


108 

And  this  word  He  has  spoken 
To  all  with  Him  who  go, 

The  waters  shall  not  drown  thee, 
The  river  not  o'erflow. 

I'll  land  thy  footsteps  safely 
On  yonder  peaceful  shore, 

Where  all  who  dwell  are  happy, 
And  they  go  out  no  more. 


Note.—"  Basle,  the  poital  of  the  Rhine,  between  Germany  and  Switzer- 
land. Beneath  the  colossal  wooden  bridge  flows  the  river,  clear  and  calm, 
in  a  half  circle,  embracing  the  old  gloomy  city,  which  has  a  very  learned 
look,  like  a  professor  in  his  chair.  A  short  distance  above  the  bridge  plies  a 
little  ferry  boat,  guided  as  by  a  magic  thread  from  the  one  shore  to  the 
other ;  from  the  shore  with  its  professor -like  aspect  and  queer  old  houses, 
to  the  other  with  its  green  fields  and  trees.  I  allowed  myself  to  be  taken  to 
and  fro  by  the  little  ferry  boat  across  the  stream  and  in  the  evening 
wandered  on  the  wide  bridge,  listening  to  the  cheerful  murmur  of  out-door 
life."— Frederica  Bremer's  "  Switzerland  and  Italy,"  translated  by  Mary 
Howitt. 

August,  1862. 


109 
THE  EHINE  AND  THE  EOCKS. 

A   DIALOGUE. 


Rhine. 
"  Oh,  foolish  Rocks !  ye  senseless  stones  ! 
How  could  ye  idly  dream 
That  standing  here,  ye  could  oppose 
The  rushing  of  my  stream. 

"  The  most  of  ye  have  given  way, 

I've  forced  my  passage  through  ; 
The  rest  of  ye  may  now  remain, 
I've  shewn  what  I  can  do. 

Rocks. 

"  Ah !  boast  not,  boast  not,  silly  stream, 
Thou'rt  like  a  self- will' d  child, 
Accustomed  long  to  its  own  way, 
By  false  indulgence  spoil' d. 

"  Winding  and  eddying  here  and  there, 
In  childhood's  fretting  pool ; 
Then  in  mad  youth  rushing  down, 
Passion's  or  pleasure's  fool." 


110 

Rhixe. 
"  Ah,  smitten  rock  !  just  thy  rebuke, 
True  wisdom  in  its  sound  ; 
I'll  flow  on  gently  now  in  age, 
To  the  great  ocean  bound." 


SCHAFFHAUSEN. 

Day  and  night,  night  and  day 
Flows  on  this  mighty  river 

Solemn,  truest  emblem 

Of  the  great  For  Ever." 


Ill 


VENICE. 

0  d'ltalia  dolente  eterna  luma,  Yenezia  !  " 

Chiabeeea. 


Beautiful  Venice,  City  of  the  Waters  ! 

We  met  thee  -with  a  glorious  setting  sun ; 
The  year,  as  well  as  day,  was  quickly  closing, 

Was  it  thine  omen,  that  thy  work  is  done  ? 

Ages  thou  sat'st  "a  Lady  of  the  Kingdoms," 

Grandest  of  all  thy  more  than  threescore  isles ; 

Grave  dignity  was  in  thee,  wealth,  with  learning, 
And  beauty,  with  her  pleasure-loving  smiles. 

Ships  of  all  nations  crowded  in  thy  harbours, 
Now  scarce  a  vessel  anchors  on  thy  shores  ; 

Alas !  where  now  thy  nobles'  pompous  galleys,  ; 

Their  gilded  prows,  their  hundred  crimson  oars  ? 

Thy  quaint  old  palaces  seem  now  deserted, 

Some  even  falling  fast  into  decay  : 
Thy  gondolas  still  glide  along  thy  waters, 

But  sad  as  mutes  upon  a  fun'ral  day; 


112 


The  quiet  of  thy  past  and  present  hour, 

Of  deeply  chang'd  emotions  is  the  sign— 

That  was  the  stillness  of  contented  power  ; 
This  of  a  conscious  and  compell'd  decline. 

Cruel  thy  wounds  from  modern  innovation  ; 

"  Strada  Ferrata  "  has  stalked  o'er  thy  sea, 
And  broke  thy  pride  of  glorious  isolation, 

Linking  her  iron  fetters  e'en  on  thee. 

Yet  hast  thou  still,  Venezia,  in  possession, 
Some  beauteous  traces  of  thine  early  day : 

Erect  would  be  thy  form  but  for  oppression, 

Graceful  thy  locks,  though  gold  be  turned  to  gray, 

There  stands  thy  noble  Campanile  Tower, 
Sounding  at  intervals  melodious  chime, 

Howe'er  superfluous  to  tell  its  power, 

Mid  such  vicissitudes  the  flight  of  time. 

There,  too,  thy  church  San  Marc  Evangelist, 
Glorious  its  marbles,  and  its  lofty  domes, 

Its  fretted  porches,  and  its  wreathed  columns, 

Golden  mosaics,  bronze,  and  sculptur'd  tombs. 

Remember' d  long  will  be  the  peaceful  pleasures 
From  earliest  daybreak  given  us  to  share, 

The  mind  exciting  with  art's  choicost  treasures, 
Then  calming  all  with  thy  soft  evening  air. 


113 


Chief  when  the  plashing  oar  upon  thy  waters, 
Led  us  on  morning  of  the  holy  day, 

"Where  many  of  our  Country's  sons  and  daughters 
Found,  in  an  ancient  palace,  place  to  pray. 

Queen  of  the  Isles,  farewell !  We  still  thus  call  thee,j 
Leaving,  fair  city,  with  a  fond  regret ; 

Oh  may  no  darker  sorrows  e'er  befall  thee, 

But  light  shine  on  thee  which  shall  never  set. 


Note. — There  is  no  one  in  the  present  day  in  whose  mind  dwells  the  idea 
of  the  old  splendour  of  the  Venetian  State.  Florence,  Eome,  and  Genoa  are 
no  longer  what  they  were,  but  the  change  of  centuries  has  never  extin- 
guished their  active  life,  and  a  moving  multitude  ever  fills  their  streets.  But 
Venice  stands  there  like  a  theatre,  on  whose  scenes  the  bright  sun  is 
shining,  while  the  heroes  who  acted  within  her  walls  have  disappeared  for 
ever." — Herman  Grimm's  "  Life  of  Michael  Angelo,"  translated  by  Elizabeth 
Bunnett,  vol.  2,  p.  57. 

"  Secluded  and  solitary,  like  a  vast  fleet  lying  at  anchor  in  the  midst  of 
the  sea. "—/&.,  p.  C2. 

'*  Le  soleil  se  couche  a  rextremite'  du  grand  canal.  Je  ne  le  vois  plus ; 
mais  a  travers  une  clairiere  de  cette  solitude  de  palais,  des  rayons  frappent 
le  globe  de  la  Douane,  les  autennes  des  barques,  les  vergues  des  navires,  et 
le  portail  du  convent  de  Saint  George-majeur.  La  Tour  du  Monastdre, 
changee  en  colonne  de  rose,  se  refiechit  dans  les  vagues.  La  facade  blanche 
de  l'eglise  est  si  fortement  eclairee,  que  je  distingue  les  plus  petits  details  du 
Ciseau.  Les  enclotures  des  magasins  de  la  Gindeca  sont  pientu  d'une 
lumiere  titienne.  Les  gon doles  du  canal  et  du  port  nagent  dans  la  meme 
lumiere.  Venise  est  la  assise  sur  la  rivage  de  la  mer,  comme  une  belle  femme 
qui  va  s'eteindre  avec  le  jour.  Le  vent  du  soir  souleva  ses  cheveux 
enbaumes,  elle  meurt,  saluee  par  toutes  les  graces  et  tous  les  souriees  de  la 
nature."— Chateaubriand  Memoire  d'outre  tombe,  tome  vi.,  lib.  8. 


114 


ON  THE  STONE  PULPIT  IN  THE  CHURCH 
OF  ST.  AMBEOSE,  AT  MILAN. 


Call  me  not  now  to  paintings,  palaces, 
Gall'ries  of  art,  not  e'en  to  Milan's  pride, 
Her  marble  temple,  like  a  snowy  Alp, 
Piercing  the  deep  blue  sky  with  pinnacles  ; 
My  thoughts  turn  back  and  fondly  linger  still 
Amid  that  sacred  pile  of  masonry. 
That  ancient  church,  e'en  now  in  slow  decay, 
Though  beat  by  storms  of  fourteen  centuries ; 
With  cloister'd  court  where  Catechumens  stood 
Waiting  admission  to  the  Church's  font ; 
Yet  more,  on  memory  of  that  aged  saint 
Who  gave  to  it  its  name,  Ambrosius. 

'Tis  not  its  rich  Mosaics,  costly  gems, 
Euby  and  chrysoprase,  and  sapphire  blue, 
Enamellings,  or  purest  gold,  upon 
Its  altar,  priceless  howsoe'er  may  be 
Their  sparkling  forms.     The  eye  is  fasten'd  there 
Upon  that  vast  mysterious  block  of  stone, 


115 


With  carvings  rude,  emblems  significant ! 
The  kingly  eagle,  with  his  outspread  wings ; 
The  dove,  with  gentler  form  and  softer  plume ;  ' 
The  pelican,  upon  its  crowded  nest, 
Piercing  it  bosom  to  sustain  its  young 
With  its  own  life  blood,  like  the  Love  Divine  ; 
The  vine,  with  clasping  tendrils  and  weak  stem, 
Veiling  rich  clusters  with  its  graceful  leaves. 

Beside  of  these  a  lengthened  table  spread, 

Attended  by  twelve  guests,  their  every  eye 

Fix'd  upon  One  presiding  in  their  midst, 

Bread  in  His  hand,  uplifted  as  to  bless, 

And  the  wine  cup  before  him,  such  as  use 

Sculptors  design  to  mark  an  Agape. 

All  these  upon  its  front,  while  underneath 

Are  hideous  monsters  struggling  to  escape. 

What  mean  these  symbols  ?  What  the  sacred  use 

Of  this  most  ancient  stone  ?    Most  it  seems 

Like  ample  reservoir,  upborne  aloft 

On  its  eight  marble  columns,  to  contain 

Pure  waters  of  the  sanctuary.    Ah,  no  ! 

And  yet  not  all  dissimilar  its  use, 

For  there  the  holy  Ambrose  preach' d  of  Christ — 

Well  of  Salvation,  and  of  life  to  man ; 

'Twas  there  he  held  the  list'ning  multitudes, 

And  told  them  of  the  wondrous  love  of  God. 

Here  oft  came  down  the  promis'd  Comforter, 
And  heal'd  the  broken  heart,  or  smote 
Hearts  that  their  earthly  deeds  had  render' d  hard 


116 


As  the  stone  chair,  but  then  like  smitten  rock, 
Flowing  forth  streams  of  penitence  and  love. 
Hence  all  these  symbols !     The  keen  eagle's  eye 
Gazing  on  truth,  with  wings  outspread  for  heav'n ; 
Demons  of  vice  in  every  form  expell'd, 
The  dove-like  spirit  taking  now  their  place ; 
Love  self- devoting  as  the  pelican's  ; 
And  deeds  of  mercy  fruitful  as  the  vine. 

Who  can  recount  the  new  creating  powers 
Receiv'd  around  that  stone  ?    Alas !  but  few 
The  traces  that  remain ;  yet  one  survives 
To  animate  the  Church  to  latest  times. 

There  was  a  day  when  holy  Ambrose  preach' d, 
And  mid  the  people  at  his  feet  there  stood 
A  widow' d  mother  with  her  only  son ; 
That  son,  till  then,  a  pleasure-loving  man. 
It  may  be,  at  this  marble  shaft  they  stood, 
When  from  its  stony  capital  came  down 
The  Word  of  Life.     O !  what  an  hour  was  that ! 
Then  from  that  saintly  mother's  beauteous  face 
Stole  down  the  last  of  the  ten  thousand  tears 
Shed  o'er  that  wayward  son  !     Then  from  her  lips 
Breath'd  forth  the  last  of  her  ten  thousand  prayers, 
For  that  son's  life  to  God.     For  lo,  her  cry 
At  length  is  heard !     Lo,  mercy  quick  descends 
Upon  Augustine's  new  born  soul,  and  makes 
The  son  of  Monica  a  saint  of  God  ! 


117 


Ask  we  what  blessings  since  that  day  have  flow'd 
For  centuries  from  that  stone  upon  the  Church  ? 
Let  his  "Confessions,"  "Meditations,"  tell. 

0  !  must  I  not  then  reverently  turn 
Unto  this  sacred  spot  ?  and  gladly  own 
Like  him  who  dream' d  of  old,  and  in  the  morn 
Set  up  his  pillar.     "  The  Most  High  is  here ! 
This  is  none  other  than  the  House  of  God ! 
This  is  the  gate  of  heaven ! " 


118 


THE  VILLA  D'ESTE. 

CEBNOBBIO,   LAKE    COMO. 


Happy,  tranquil,  Villa  d'Este ! 
After  Venice,  pleasantest 

Of  our  pilgrim  homes  ; 
Such  delights  thou  hast  imparted, 
"We  shall  all  feel  quite  down-hearted, 

When  the  time  for  parting  comes. 

Duly  as  each  morn  we  wake, 
There  is  spread  thy  glassy  lake, 

Eefiecting  on  its  face 
Every  mountain,  villa,  grove, 
Every  fleecy  cloud  ahove, 

In  the  canopy  of  space. 

O'er  thy  gentle  waters,  too, 
Glide  gondolas  ;  not  of  hue 

And  trappings,  gloomy,  dark  : 
Awnings  their' s  of  purest  white ; 
Flags,  with  every  colour  bright, 

Float  gaily  from  each  bark. 


119 

Dwelling  once  of  England's  Queen  ! 
Would  that  she  had  never  been 

Drawn  off  to  scenes  of  strife ! 
Here,  at  least,  her  name  was  lov'd ; 
Here  to  the  poor  a  friend  she  prov'd, 

And  led  a  useful  life. 

Thou  seem'st  to  rise  amid  the  lake, 
And  yet  thy  walls  no  tempest  shake, 

A  rock  is  at  thy  base  : 
Mountains  behind  their  shadows  fling ; 
And  in  thy  garden  gallery  sing 

Birds  of  peculiar  grace. 

They  call  them  "  Passereaux  solitaires ;  " 
But  shrewd  are  they  as  "  La  Bruyere,"  * 

In  loneliness  to  own 
He  lov'd  a  friend  in  his  retreat, 
Whom  he  might  whisper,  "  oh !  how  sweet 

It  is  to  live  alone." 

And  so  those  birds  of  purple  feather 
Sit  in  their  cages  close  together 

In  calm,  contented  mood  ; 
Still  echoing  from  their  swelling  throats 
Each  to  the  other  plaintive  notes 

In  praise  of  solitude. 

*  Suggested  by  Cowper. 


120 

Across  on  th'  wooded  mountain's  side 
Seven  smiling  towns  like  sheepfolds  bide 

"Warm  in  "  the  ris'n  sun ;  "  * 
So  calm  and  peaceful,  yet  so  small, 
A  saint  would  intercede  for  all, 
The  fiery  storm  on  none  might  fall, 

A  "Zoar"  every  one. 

Within  thy  spacious,  lofty  halls, 
With  canton  banners  on  thy  walls, 

So  joyfully  we  roam : 
Thy  corridors  and  garden  bowers, 
Thy  terraces  of  blooming  flowers, 

Shine  like  our  Southwood  home. 

Then,  happy,  tranquil,  Villa  d'Este  ! 
After  Yenice,  pleasantest 

Of  our  pilgrim  homes  ; 
Such  delights  thou  hast  imparted, 
We  shall  all  be  quite  down-hearted, 

When  the  time  for  parting  comes. 

*  Gen.  xix.  20,  23. 


121 


CEKTOSA,    NEAR    PAVIA. 

TO   MY  DEAR   GRANDSON,    ERNEST  VENABLES,    AT   THE 
CHARTERHOTJSE. 


Oh  !  what  will  dear  Ernest  in  wonderment  say, 

When  he  hears,  though  in  Italy,  far,  far  away, 

We  yesterday  went  near  the  City,  and  there 

Saw  the  Charterhouse — yes,  and  the  Charterhouse  Square ! 

The  Brothers  Carthusian  too,  and  their  hall, 
Their  church,  and  the  cloisters— I  visited  all ; 
And  a  glorious  pleasure  it  was  to  us,  save 
That  the  ladies  were  only  allow' d  in  the  nave. 

But  it  was  not  your  Charterhouse,  Ernest ;  'twas  far 
From  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  near  that  river  of  war, 
Ticino,  that  flows  through  old  Lombardy's  plains, 
Where  Pa  via,  its  capital  once,  still  remains. 

"  Certosa,"  they  call  it,  the  same  as  with  you  — 
Certosin  are,  in  Lombardy,  monks  of  Chartreux  ; 
But  we  English,  whose  language  will  anglicise  all, 
Monasterium,  perversely,  a  Charterhouse  call. 

But  oh !  such  a  Charterhouse  this !  so  design' d, 
In  grandeur  of  purpose,  and  taste  so  refin'd, 
That  of  all  Monasteria  through  the  world  wide 
Certosa  has  ever  been  reckon' d  the  pride. 


122 


Its  sculptures ;  its  columns ;  its  beautiful  roof,* 
As  blue  as  the  heavens,  and  glittering  aloof 
"With  bright  golden  stars ;  its  pure  marble  shrines, 
Where  a  jewel  on  every  ornament  shines. 

Mosaics,  where  birds  of  rich  plumage  are  shown, 
Their  every  feather  a  rare  precious  stone ; 
Mid  flowers,  whose  tendrils  with  blossoming  curl, 
Chalcedony,  topaz,  and  agate,  and  pearl. 

Then  such  frescoes  as  beam  upon  each  chapel  wall, 
Luini's  the  softest  expression  of  all, 
Where  all  holy  stories  from  the  holy  Word 
To  the  eye,  and  almost  to  the  ear,  are  preferr'd. 

But  to  glory  of  whom  did  the  founder  design 
This  vast  and  superbly  magnificent  shrine  ? 
To  the  Almighty  Father  ?  or  His  beloved  Son  ? 
Or  His  Holy  Spirit  ?  the  great  Three  in  One  ? 

Ah,  no !  the  inscription  the  visitor  sees, 

Trac'd  high  mid  the  carvings  of  that  sculptur'd  frieze, 

Is  "  Mary  the  Virgin,"  divinely  allied, 

Of  God  at  once  mother,  and  daughter,  and  bride,  f 


»  "On  ne  pout  s'empecher  d'admirer  et  la  grandeur  de  ses  dimensions  et 
l'exacte  proportion  qui  se  revele  dans  toutes  ses  parties,  et  surtout  la  beaute 
de  la  voute  toute  scintillante  d'etoilcs  d'or,  sc  detachante  sur  un  ciel  de  bleu 
d'outre  mer,  et  divisee  en  nombreux  compartiments  tous  varies,  et  tous  plus 
riches  les  uns  que  les  autres." 

+  "Maria?  Virgini,  matri,  filise,  sponsse  Dei." 


123 


Not  thus  holy  Mary  herself  spake  of  old, 

With  angelic  glory  around  her :  "  Behold 

In  me  the  Lord's  handmaid;"  and  humbly  her  voice 

In  God  as  her  Saviour  was  rais'd  to  rejoice. 

Alas  !  that  this  valley  should  e'er  have  been  soil'd 

With  the  blood  of  the  brave ;  but  here  France  was  despoil' d 

Of  her  noblest  sons — here  her  chivalrous  king 

Did  the  Emperor  Charles  to  captivity  bring. 

Yet  when  the  great  Francis  (so  histories  tell) 
Heard  the  musical  chime  of  the  church  vesper  bell, 
He  enter' d  Certosa's  fair  temple,  and  there 
With  humility  join'd  in  the  brotherhood's  prayer  : 

I  know,  0  great  God !  that  Thy  judgments  are  right, 
And  that  verily  Thou  dost  in  faithfulness  smite ;  " 
Then  calm'd  in  his  spirit,  with  dignity  wrote, 
"  Our  battle  is  lost,  but  our  honour  is  not."  * 

The  good-natur'd  monk  who  went  with  us  as  guide 
Was  devotion,  with  ignorance  closely  allied ; 
His  white  robe  without  spot,  his  clean  shaven  crown  ; 
Exact  in  their  places,  his  low  bowings  down. 


*  "Ce  fut  dans  ce  meme  Pare  qu'en  1525  se  livra  la  memorable  bataille 
de  Pavia,  dans  laquelle  Francois  I.,  Roi  de  France,  qui  s'y  etoit  retire  avec 
le  gros  de  ses  troupes,  fut  vaincu,  et  fait  prisonnier,  avec  la  fleur  de  sa 
noblesse,  par  l'armee  de  Charles  V.,  Roi  d'Espagne.  Conduit  dans  ce  temple, 
au  moment  ou  les  religieux  chantaient  au  cbceur  le  75dme  verset  duPsaume 
cxix. — 'Recta,  Domine,  judicia  tua,  et  In  equitate  humiliasti  me,'  le  royal 
captif,  parfaitment  resigne"  aux  desseins  de  la  Divine  Providence,  cbanta 
avec  eux  les  memes  paroles,  et  s'en  fit  une  heureuse  application ;  alors  il 
Scrivit  a  sa  mdre  :  '  Madame,  tout  est  perdu,  fors  rhonneur.' " 


124 


The  brotherhood's  customs  he  told  with  delight — 
Of  their  fastings  by  day,  and  their  patchings  by  night 
And  would  lay  down  his  life  for  us,  could  he  but  hope 
To  make  each  a  dutiful  child  of  the  Pope. 

But  when  we  esteem' d  such  conversion  as  small, 
And  pointed  to  One  who  gave  life  for  us  all ; 
And  words  from  the  Holy  Book  openly  spread, 
Arms  cross' d  on  his  breast,  with  a  shake  of  his  head, 

He  put  them  all  by  as  not  meriting  heed ; 
And  'twas  doubtful  to  us  if  he  even  could  read  ; 
For  he  lifted  his  eyes  up  to  heaven  awhile, 
Then  bade  us  "Adieu  "  with  a  pitying  smile. 

So  we  pass'd  from  these  beautiful  chapels  and  halls, 
Their  courts,  and  their  cloisters,  and  boundary  walls, 
Regretting  that  there  superstition  should  reign, 
And  our  freedom  recover' d  on  Pa  via' s  plain. 


The  Charterhouse  of  London,  close  to  Smithfield,  which  in  an  old  map  of 
London,  1563,  is  written  "  Schmyt-Fyeld,''  was  the  convent  of  the  Carthu- 
sians, founded  by  Sir  Walter  de  Hadne,  a  famous  general  in  the  reign  of 
Edward  III.  It  was  completed  as  a  priory  in  1370,  and  occupied  by  Monks 
of  the  above  severe  order  for  164  years.  When,  in  1500,  the  religious  notions 
of  the  then  English  monarch  (Henry  VIII.)  made  the  heads  of  his  subjects 
insecure  on  their  shoulders,  the  prior,  John  Houghton,  was  required  to  sub- 
scribe a  declaration  that  he,  "  Henry,  King  of  England,  Scotland,  France, 
and  Ireland,  was  also  head  of  the  Church;"  and  John  Houghton,  in  the 
hope  the  little  remnant  of  his  own  life  would  be  spared  by  his  compliance, 
yielded  and  subscribed  the  declaration  :  but  he  was  signally  disappointed ; 
for  on  opposing  some  other  arbitrary  decrees  of  the  monarch,  John  Houghton 
was  executed.  The  priory  was  shortly  after  dissolved  and  sold.  Having 
passed  through  several  hands,  it  was  purchased  by  a  wealthy  and  charitable 
citizen  of  London,  Thomas  Sutton,  for  £13,000  ;  he  it  was  who  established 
the  present  Charterhouse  in  the  time  of  James  I.  This  was  the  greatest 
gift  in  England,  either  in  Protestant  or  Catholic  times,  ever  bestowed  by  a 
single  man,  save  Guy's  Hospital. 


TOMB    OF    ST.    AUGUSTINE, 


125 


L'AEOO   DI   SANT   AGOSTINO, 

MONUMENTO   IN  MARMO   DEL   SECOLO  XIY.   ORA  ESISENTE 
NELLA   CHIESA   CATHEDRALE   DI   PAVIA. 


THE   TOMB    OF    SAINT  AUGUSTINE,   IN   THE   CATHEDRAL   CHURCH 

or  pavia  ; 

A  MARBLE  MONUMENT  OF  THE  FOURTEENTH  CENTURY. 


Call  not  the  Church  unmindful  of  her  son, 

Behold  -what  skill  and  gratitude  have  done ; 

Did  ever  art  conceive  so  bright  design  ? 

Or  sculpture  rear  so  beautiful  a  shrine  ? 

Here  in  the  Lombard's  antiquated  town, 

Where  still  Pavia' s  gloomy  towers  frown, 

Over  Ticino's  waters,  clear  but  slow, 

As  through  its  quaint  and  covered  bridge  they  flow, 

In  its  Cathedral's  amplitude  of  space, 

The  southern  transept  finds  his  tomb  a  place. 

Upon  its  marble  basement's  every  side 

Are  sculptured  men,  with  holiest  thoughts  allied ; 

Evangelists,  apostles,  martyrs,  all 

Whom  "  Fathers  of  the  Church  "  we  justly  call. 


126 


Beside  them,  emblematic  forms  we  trace, 
Of  every  moral,  every  Christian  grace. 
Faith,  with  her  cross  reversed,  in  sign  of  grief, 
Yet  with  the  cup  of  promise  for  relief. 
Hope  gazing  earnest  with  uplifted  eye, 
Through  gloom  on  earth,  expecting  light  on  high, 
Her  hair  in  tresses  o'er  her  shoulders  flows, 
Decked  with  the  blooms  of  hyacinth  and  rose ; 
To  every  woe  outstretching  on  her  arm, 
The  branch  with  many  blossoms  of  the  palm. 
Fair  Charity,  young  children  at  her  breast, 
Offering  her  heart  of  love  to  all  the  rest. 
Religion,  with  her  feet  upon  the  rock, 
Prepared,  'mid  tossing  waves,  for  every  shock ; 
Her  right  hand  shewing  wisdom's  open  scroll, 
Her  left,  the  palm  for  such  as  reach  the  goal. 
Prudence,  with  threefold  aspect,  chaste  and  grave, 
Quick  to  foresee,  not  heedlessly  to  brave ; 
Lifting  her  right  hand  with  the  warning  sign, 
While  in  her  left  three  volumes,  to  define 
Her  purpose,  every  change  and  time  to  see, 
The  past,  the  present,  and  the  yet  to  be. 
Justice,  her  sword  and  even  balance  brings. 
Temperance,  her  cruse  of  water  from  the  springs. 
While  Fortitude,  her  robe  the  lion's  hide, 
With  round  shield  girt  securely  at  her  side. 
See  Meekness  to  her  bosom  gently  press 
A  feeble  lamb,  and  soothe  with  fond  caress . 
And  Poverty,  in  simple  robe  arrayed, 
Calm,  unrepining,  and  contented  maid, 


127 


To  be  with  chaplet  crowned ;  her  sister  grace, 

Fair  Chastity,  of  pure  and  tranquil  face, 

Her  symbol,  chosen  from  the  "feeble  folk," 

Who  wisely  seek  defences  in  the  rock  ;* 

There  resting  safely  from  the  fear  of  ill ; 

Her  palm,  with  rose  and  tulip  blooming  still. 

Obedience  shews  a  brow  severely  calm, 

Her  easy  yoke  sustain' d  on  either  arm ; 

Book  in  her  hand,  as  ever  prompt  to  teach, 

Her  finger  on  her  lips  to  chasten  speech. 

All  these  fair  graces  round  his  tomb  are  brought, 

As  what  the  holy  father  lived  and  taught. 

Above  this  basement,  rich  with  art's  device, 

Eight  wreath' d  and  slender  columns  lightly  rise  ; 

And  from  their  foliate  capitals  there  springs 

An  open  canopy,  whose  shadow  flings 

Over  the  marble  bier,  whereon  is  laid 

The  beauteous  figure  of  the  saintly  dead. 

There  on  his  marble  couch  Augustine  lies, 

His  peaceful  countenance  toward  the  skies, 

The  holy  Book  held  open  on  his  breast, 

In  life  his  counsel,  and  in  death  his  rest. 

Supporting  drapery  around  the  bier 

Are  deacons  of  the  Church  who  loved  him  here  ; 

Elders  and  saints  by  various  symbols  known, 

The  dove,  the  mitre,  crozier,  and  the  crown. 

But  one  is  there,  as  of  peculiar  right, 

For  'twas  of  him  the  saint  "  received  his  sight," 

*  The  Conies. 


128 

The  holy  Ambrose,  with  his  staff  and  scroll, 
The  guide  and  teacher  of  Augustine's  soul. 

But  who  are  they,  the  capitals  above— 
Sculptors,  compelled  by  death  their  faith  to  prove, 
Simplicio,  Nicostrato,  constant  Claude, 
With  Sinforiano,  martyrs  to  the  sword 
Of  Diocletian's  tyranny,  who  refus'd 
To  sculpture  idols,  and  see  art  abused ; 
Nobly  refusing,  rather  than  comply 
With  such  command  to  disobey  and  die. 
Behold  them  here,  with  tools  and  compass,  each 
Seated  secure,  in  each  appointed  niche ; 
The  columns  they  have  chiselled  overthrown 
A  scroll  interpreting  "  The  Martyr's  Crown." 
In  further  tablets,  incidents  we  trace 
Which  in  Augustine's  history  had  place. 
Ambrosius  preaching  from  his  sacred  chair; 
And  midst  the  assembled  hearers  listening  there, 
The  youthful  son  of  Monica,  till  then 
Known  only  among  pleasure-loving  men ; 
Now,  his  heart  smitten  by  the  searching  Word, 
Eager  he  craves  for  the  instruction  heard, 
From  St.  Simplician,  then  in  favoured  dream, 
Beneath  a  shadowy  tree  allowed  to  deem, 
An  angel  sent  to  him  from  heaven  to  bear 
Paul's  wondrous  letters,  with  the  assurance  there 
He  should  find  life  and  peace  ;  nor  long  deferred 
These  gifts,  for  quickly  is  his  prayer  preferred 
To  Ambrose  for  tho  catechumen's  rite ; 
Joy  to  his  saintly  mother's  widowed  sight. 


129 

Alas,  how  soon  is  joy  pursued  by  grief ; 
Such,  is  life's  volume,  as  we  turn  each  leaf: 
Behold  the  company  of  mourners  there, 
They  to  her  tomb  the  sainted  mother  bear. 
Close  to  her  honoured  head,  her  honoured  son, 
Her  life  work  ended,  his  but  just  begun ; 
That  mother,  harassed  long  by  anxious  cares, 
That  son,  her  recompense  of  many  prayers. 


And  now  his  energetic  spirit  turns 
To  light  in  other  hearts  the  flame  that  burns 
"Within  his  own  ;  and  we  behold  him  there 
In  midst  of  men  assembled  round  his  chair, 
Founding  the  order  that  received  his  name  ; 
Would  its  pure  zeal  had  e'er  remained  the  same  ! 
Yet  had  we  precious  fruit  in  our  own  land, 
And  while  the  Anglo-Saxon's  lore  shall  stand 
"  The  Ormulum  "  attest  in  purest  thought 
Some  blessings  that  Augustine's  order  wrought; 
The  saint  himself,  example  to  the  rest, 
His  writings,  preachings,  labours,  widely  blest. 
There  see  him  midst  disciples  scattering  seed 
Of  holy  doctrine  ;  there,  by  holy  deed 
The  sick  relieving  and  the  prison-bound, 
And  pouring  solace  into  every  wound, 
Devoting  converts  at  baptismal  font ; 
Nor  limiting  his  labours  to  the  want 
Of  one  great  city  ;  see  on  either  hand 
Churches  and  cupolas  around  him  stand, 


130 


Sharing  his  labours  to  his  latest  day, 

Their  fruit  still  ripening  when  he  passed  away. 

And  now  we  turn  to  a  far  different  scene 
From  that  his  life  of  energy  had  been  ; 
Death's  stillness,  and  the  honours  paid  at  death 
To  him  who  gave  the  Church  his  every  breath. 
See  ships  conveying  from  Sardinia's  shore 
His  sacred  body.     Thither  long  before 
Through  Arian  troubles  brought  from  Afric's  soil, 
His  bishopric  and  latest  sphere  of  toil. 
But  when  in  after  years,  invading  hosts 
Of  Saracens  laid  waste  Sardinia's  coasts, 
To  Pavia  reverently,  Lombard's  King, 
The  sacred  dust  with  care  resolved  to  bring; 
And  there,  eleven  centuries  it  has  lain, 
Waiting  the  day,  death's  Conqueror  again 
Shall  come  to  call  on  all  His  saints  to  rise 
From  turf  or  marble  to  the  deathless  skies. 

Meantime,  the  Church,  in  memory  of  her  Son, 
Whose  life  her  reverence  and  love  had  won, 
Has  bid  her  sculptors  plan  this  bright  design, 
And  raise  this  beautiful  and  lasting  shrine. 


131 


MY  THIED  VISIT  TO   CANNES 


1863. 


Three  years  the  owner  of  the  fig  tree  came 

And  sought  its  fruit ; 
When  finding  nought  but  leaves  thereon,  he  bade 

The  tree  uproot. 

Three  years,  fair  Cannes,  have  I  oppressed  sought  health 

In  thy  fair  clime ; 
But  thou  hast  not  denied  it,  for  that  health 

I  found  each  time. 

I  know  it  is  not  in  thy  power  alone 

Sickness  to  heal ; 
Thou  canst  not  more  than  angels  do  on  high, 

Work  but  His  will, 

Who  gives  to  various  lands  their  varying  air, 

To  man  his  breath — 
To  Him  alone  the  issues  appertain 

Of  life  and  death. 


132 


Yet  we  esteem  the  channels  of  our  good ; 

Those  hands  may  love 
That  bring  our  blessings,  while  we  honour  chief 

Their  source  above. 

Sweet  joy,  to  gaze  a  third  time  on  the  charms 

Of  thy  calm  face ; 
And  all  the  beauties  of  thy  hills  and  vales 

Again  to  trace. 

To  linger  near  thy  wooded  heights,  and  hear, 

All  the  day  long, 
The  nightingales  delight  their  nest-bound  mates 

With  richest  song. 

Mingling  with  these,  the  soft  sound  of  the  waves 

Plashing  the  shore ; 
The  tinkling  horse  bells,  or  the  leading  goats 

The  flock  before. 

Thy  tranquil  bay ;  the  ever-varying  hues 

Of  mountain  range, 
The  beautiful  Estrelles,  purple  or  grey, 

As  the  skies  change. 

Thy  plants,  and  heaths,  and  unfamiliar  flow'rs 

Can  charm  us  still ; 
Thy  olive  groves  and  orange  terraces 

With  fragrance  fill. 


133 


I  love  to  follow  up  thy  mountain  clefts, 

"Where  water  feeds 
And  winds  sway  to  and  fro  the  graceful  forms 

Of  thy  tall  reeds. 

From  these,  for  their  abundance,  it  is  told 

Thou  hast  thy  name ;  * 
But  how  do  these  One  Sufferer's  griefs  recall 

Our  love  which  claim. 

It  was  a  reed,  like  thine,  which  then  was  plac'd 

With  bitter  scorn 
In  His  right  hand — with  many  reeds  His  back 

Was  scourg'd  and  torn. 

'Twas  on  another  that  the  wetted  sponge 

The  soldier's  hand 
Eais'd  to  His  parched  lips,  amid  the  scoffs 

Of  the  rude  band,  f 

It  is  because,  fair  Cannes,  thou  ever  join'd 

In  thy  retreat 
Such  thoughts  with  all  thy  pleasures,  thou  hast  borne 

A  solace  sweet. 


•  Cannes  derived  its  name  from  the  long  reeds  or  Canes  which  grow  there 
in  great  abundance,  and  which  have  a  very  remarkable  appearance. 

+  The  Trench  version  of  Ostervald  renders  the  verse  in  St.  Mark  thus : 
"  L'un  courut,  emplit  une  eponge  de  vinaigre,  la  mit  au  bout  d'une  canne,  et 
la  lui  presenta  pour  boire. 

Diodati's  Italian  version :  TJn  di  loro  corse,  ed  empiuta  una  spugna 
d'aceto,  e  postala  intorno  ad  una  canna,  gli  did  da  berc." — Marc  xv.  36. 


134 

There  is  thy  little  church,  wherein  so  oft 

For  prayer  we  met, 
With  some  now  worshippers  above,  but  some 

Are  pilgrims  yet. 

There  dwells  the  church's  generous  founder,  one 

Of  modest  worth  ; 
Whose  glorious  gardens  shew  that  Edens  may 

Still  bloom  on  earth. 

There  is  the  noble  Saracenic  tower 

Which  crowns  thy  hill ; 
And  th'  ancient  church  whose  chimes  with  melody 

The  valley  fill. 

There,  o'er  thy  soft  blue  waters,  peaceful  rest 

The  sister  isles  ; 
Bright  all  the  day,  but  at  each  setting  sun 

All  light  and  smiles. 

I  may  not  see  thee  more,  fair  Cannes,  tho'  much 

My  heart  inclines ; 
In  life,  or  o'er  the  grave,  no  shade  is  like 

Thy  shadowing  pines. 


135 


THOUGHTS   ON  CONFIEMATION. 

WRITTEN   FOE   OUR   YOUNGEST    SON,    THEODORE. 


In  this  Holy  Eite  think  of  God  as  thus  speaking  to  you  : — 

"  Wilt  thou  not  from  this  time  cry  unto  me,  My  Father !  Thou 
art  the  Guide  of  my  youth  ?  "     Jeremiah  iii.  4. 

CONSIDER,  He  has  spoken  to  you  hef  ore  in  much  the  samo 
language. 

"  My  Son  !  give  me  thy  heart !  "     Pro  v.  xxiii.  26. 

Have  you  already  listened  to  this  His  call,  and  striven  to  ohey 
it  ?  and  though  at  times  you  have  found  your  heart  turning 
aside  from  Him,  yet  are  you  now  desiring  to  he  firm  and  faith- 
ful ?    If  so, 

This  Rite  will  strengthen  your  good  resolutions,  and  thus 
bring  you  peace  of  mind. 

If  you  have  not  listened  to  His  voice,  hearken  to  it  now  : 
for  He  now  repeats  His  call. 

"  Wilt  thou  not  from  this  time  cry  unto  Me,"  "  my  Father  ! 
Thou  art,  Thou  shalt  he,  the  Guide  of  my  youth." 

Reflect. 

I.  At  some  time  the  cry  must  be  uttered,  or 

1st.  You  will  never  even  pray  the  Lord's  Prayer  aright. 
How  can  you  use  the  words  of  that  prayer,  and  call  God 
"  Father,"  without  the  feelings,  the  love  of  a  son  ? 

2nd.  He  will  not  own  the  relationship.      Prov.  i.  24-33. 

II.  No  time  is  so  suitable  as  the  present,  for, 

1st.  This  season  of  "Youth  "  is  fast  passing  away. 


136 

2nd.  It  will  be  harder  to  raise  the  voice  of  prayer  when 
the  snares  of  manhood  and  the  world  thicken  around  you. 
III.     If  you  do  listen  to  His  invitation, 

1st.  God  will  certainly  accept  and  bless  you.     Hear  His 
promise : 

"  I  will  receive  you,  and  be  a  Father  unto  you."  2  Cor.  vi.  18. 
2nd.  He  will  confirm  your  Confirmation. 

"  Thou  shalt  call  Me,  My  Father !  and  shalt  not  turn 
away  from  Me."  Jeremiah  iii.  19. 
Often  look  back  in  after  life  on  this  day.  May  it  not  prove 
to  ycu  the  beginning  of  a  new  era  in  your  life  ?  It  has  been 
such  to  many  young  persons.  Pray  for  God's  Holy  Spirit  that 
it  may  be  so  to  you,  and  to  your  fellow  candidates.  It  is  the  holy 
opportunity  for  renewing  in  your  own  persons  your  Baptismal 
Covenant — the  dedication  of  your  heart  and  life  to  God.  The 
life  follows  the  heart.  "  Keep  thy  heart  then  with  all  diligence," 
for,  just  as  the  pure  streams  tell  of  the  clear  fountain,  so,  out  of 
the  heart,  holy  or  unclean,  are  all  the  issues  of  the  life.  Some 
have  a  heart  full  of  covetousness.  Then,  their  life  is  "  exercised ' ' 
in  selfish,  greedy  "covetous  practices."  2  Pet.  ii.  14.  Those 
in  whose  "hearts  the  love  of  God,"  and  not  of  self,  "is  shed 
abroad  by  the  Holy  Spirit,"  are  the  men  who  best  fulfil  their 
duties  to  their  feilowmen.     Eom.  v.  5  ;  xii.  1-21. 

May  you  so  live,  then,  that  every  day,  but  especially  on  the 
anniversary  of  your  Confirmation  Day,  you  may  hear  your 
Lord  and  Saviour's  voice  saying  to  you,  "  My  Son  !  didst  thou 
not  from  that  lime  cry  unto  Me,  My  Father !  My  Saviour !  Be 
Thou  the  Guide  of  my  Youth  !  "  and  He  will  answer, 

"  Even  to  your  old  age  I  am  He !  I  will  guide  thee  with  My 
counsel,  and  after  receive  thee  to  glory."      Isaiah  xlvi.  4. 
Psalm  lxxiii.  24. 
February,  18G3. 


i.r 


PEGLI. 


Thou  hast  "been  to  me,  fair  Pegli, 
A  pleasant  winter  home ; 

And  not  without  a  sorrow, 
The  time  to  leave  is  come. 

I  will  not  cast  from  memory, 
Thy  pleasures  when  I  go  ; 

Thy  valleys  rich  with  flowers, 

Thy  mountains  white  with  snow. 

On  every  side  thy  features 

TVore  thousand  charms  for  me : 

Behind,  ravines  and  woodlands ; 
Before,  the  deep  "blue  sea. 

Now  with  its  tideless  waters, 

As  gentle  as  a  child ; 
Now  rolling,  noble  billows, 

As  with  emotion  wild. 

Thy  beauteous  villas  bright'ning, 
Each  mountain  slope  in  view  ; 

Ellena,  Doria,  Rostau, 
And  Pall'vicini  too. 

The  columns  in  thy  gardens, 

Eang'd  in  their  terrac'd  lines  ; 

Long  pergolas  of  shelter, 

Supporting  fruitful  vines. 


138 

Thy  olive  yards,  thy  citrons, 

And  groves  with  golden  fruit  ; 

Rocks  that  I've  climb'd,  and  follow' d 
The  streamlets  at  their  foot. 

But  chief  that  lofty  arbour, 

From  whence  the  eye  could  rest 

On  Genoa's  hay  to  eastward, 
And  Yoltri's  to  the  west. 

My  often-sought  retirement, 

For  there  the  vast  expanse 
Seem'd  fram'd  as  if  the  promises 

In  glory  to  enhance. 

High  as  that  arch  of  heav'n, 

So  measureless  His  love, 
Far  as  the  poles  asunder, 

Our  sins  from  us  to  move.* 

These,  Pegli,  were  thy  pleasures 
Which  made  my  joy  o'erfiow  ; 

And  still  will  cheer  my  memory, 
Whene'er  from  thee  I  go. 

For  when  some  thought  of  the  absent 
Had  thrown  their  gloom  on  time, 

Thy  Campanile  Tower 

Dispell' d  them  with  its  chime. 

•  "  Quanto  sono  alti  i  cieli  sopra  la  terra 
Tanto  e  grande  la  sua  benignita. 
Quanto  d  lontano  il  levante  dal  ponente, 
Tanto  Egli  ha  allontanati  da  noi  i  nostri  misfatti."— Salm  ciii.  11,  12. 


139 


THE    SIXTY-SIXTH    ANNIVEKSAKY, 

10th    APRIL,    1863. 


I  us'd  to  hear  fond  wishes 
For  many  glad  returns ; 

But  these  are  now  as  shadows, 
For  while  one  lives,  one  learns 

How  quickly  life  is  fleeting  ; 

And  'tis  not  now  as  then, 
Since  mortal  lives  are  reckon' d 

At  "threescore  years  and  ten.' 

Most  of  the  miles  I've  travell'd, 
E'en  upwards  of  threescore  ; 

There  can,  to  end  the  journey, 
Be  but  a  few  miles  more. 

But  oh !  that  life  to  follow ! 

So  happy  and  so  pure, 
For  those  who  love  their  Saviour, 

And  to  the  end  endure. 


140 

There  is  the  city  "Beautiful," 
May  its  gate  ope  for  me  ; 

Though  I  he  most  unworthy, 
'Tis  Jesus  keeps  the  key. 

And  I  have  heard  His  promise 

Echoing  His  Church  throughout, 

"  No  humble  soul  that  knocketh 
Shall  ever  be  shut  out." 


141 


EXTRACT  FROM  CAROLINE'S  LETTER, 

AFTER   MENTIONING  MANY   FAMILY   SORROWS. 


'There  are  lots  of  bright  things  left  for  us,  and  those  too,  which  run 
through  the  darker,  and  which  remain  everlastingly." 


I  see  them,  dear  Caroline,  "  lots  of  bright  things" 
Coining  down  from  above  as  on  cherubim's  wings ; 
Some  even  in  darkness  continuing  bright, 
Like  stars  the  most  brilliant  when  blackest  the  night. 

There  is  life,  with  its  powers  for  joy  or  for  grief, 
The  joy  so  enduring,  the  sorrow  so  brief; 
There  is  health,  there  is  sickness,  which  often  is  made 
In  brightness  to  bloom,  though  it  open'd  in  shade. 

There  is  home,  with  its  countless  endearments  of  love, 
Bright  remnant  of  blessings  first  born  from  above ; 
With  smiles  on  all  faces,  and  if  chance  a  tear, 
Affection  soon  dries  it  and  smiles  reappear. 

The  shj  of  bright  blue,  and  the  clouds  of  soft  grey, 

By  turns  lend  their  varying  hues  to  the  day  ; 

The  mountains,  the  valleys,  the  rivers,  the  sea, 

Are  more  of  the  "  bright  things  "  that  shine  around  me. 


H2 


How  often  to  count  up  my  bright  things  I've  tried, 
But  to  number  them  all  calculation  defied  ; 
Like  leaves  of  the  forest,  or  sands  of  the  shore, 
Which  if  I  could  reckon  my  bright  things  are  more. 

Contentment  and  gratitude,  patience  and  peace, 
The  bright  making  brighter,  and  pleasure  increase ; 
And  vexation  softening  with  such  kindly  ray, 
That  the  gloom  of  the  night  becomes  dawn  of  the  day. 

And  I  even  have  seen  that  the  dust  of  the  grave, 
In  the  last  place  of  sorrow,  its  brightness  may  have— 
For  the  snowdrop,  the  violet,  and  primrose,  self  sown, 
Have  sprung  up  through  the  earth  and  their  blossoms  have 
shewn. 

But  brightest  of  all  is  that  luminous  "Word, 
Which  assures  unto  all  who  will  follow  the  Lord, 
When  all  earthly  glories  in  darkness  are  laid, 
A  crown  of  bright  radiance  that  never  shall  fade. 


1863. 


143 


ON  THE  GLASS  CASE  OF  SKELETON  LEAVES, 

PREPARED  POR  ME  BY  DEAREST  CAROLINE. 


How  little  they  know  who  just  look  at  a  leaf, 

In  its  coating  of  various  green, 
And  perhaps  roughly  handle  that  surface,  heneath 

What  a  beautiful  structure  is  seen. 

But  beheld  in  this  glass,  not  more  curious  care 

O'er  thine  own  wondrous  frame  has  been  spread  ; 

Here  are  bones,  joints,  and  sinews,  as  fine  as  a  hair, 
In  a  network  of  silvery  thread. 

little  elbows  and  ancles,  and  here  a  bright  cup, 

There  a  socket,  or  tenon,  or  ball, 
Graceful  ducts  for  the  sap  and  the  air,  to  keep  up 

Its  frail  life  from  the  spring  to  the  fall. 

When  man  plucks  off  or  tosses  these  wonders  away, 

Or  tramples  them  under  his  feet, 
He  is  breaking  an  ivory  casket  for  play, 

And  throwing  its  pearls  in  the  street. 


144 


There  are  myriads  of  leaves  in  the  great  Maker's  Book, 

And  of  all  it  is  equally  true, 
That  on  only  a  part  of  their  "beauties  we  look, 

More  thau  half  are  conceal' d  from  our  view. 

In  this  graceful  work,  then,  a  truth  we  admire, 
While  the  leaf  shews  a  beautiful  skin, 

What  in  it  we  discern,  for  ourselves  we  desire, 
The  best  of  its  worth  is  within. 


The  fire  shall  ever  be  burning  on  the  altar ;  it  shall 
never  go  out,"— Levit.  vi.  13. 


The  altar's  fire  no  longer  bright, 
Cast  on  the  fane  a  paler  light — 

A  languid,  sickly  ray. 
The  anxious  vestal  hastes  to  raise 
Its  flame,  around  the  glory  plays, 

And  makes  the  twilight  day. 

Thus,  in  the  temple  of  the  soul, 
Wearied  and  weak  with  sin's  control, 

When  hope  and  love  relax, 
Sis  grace  the  dying  flame  will  feed, 
Who  never  brake  a  bruised  reed, 

Or  quenched  the  smoking  flax. 


145 


THE  TEANSLATION   OF   ELIJAH. 

JGESTED   BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER'S  POEM  ON  THE  DI 

AND    BURIAL   OF   MOSES,    AS   RECORDED   IN 

DEUT.  XXXIV.  5,  6. 


1  The  Lord  buried  him,  and  no  man  knoweth  of  his  sepulchere  unto  this  day. 

"  That  was  the  grandest  funeral 
That  ever  passed  on  earth ; 
But  no  man  heard  the  trampling, 
Or  saw  the  train  go  forth. 

"  The  Angels  of  God  upturned  the  sod, 
And  laid  the  dead  man  there." 


There  was  one  other  transit 

Of  higher  mystery  still, 
From  earth  and  its  mortality, 

To  God's  most  holy  hill. 
It  was  no  death  nor  burial, 

Yet  was  one  mourner  there  ; 
But  it  came  in  light,  almost  too  bright, 

For  human  sight  to  bear. 

L 


146 

'TVas  Israel's  favour' d  seer, 

Who,  once  so  dim  his  eye, 
In  dread  of  desolation, 

Entreated  he  might  die  ; 
While  one  of  the  "  twenty  thousand* 

Chariots  "  of  fiery  flame 
Was  yoking  aft,  to  the  lightning's  shaft, 

To  bear  him  whence  they  came. 

What  wondrous  change  came  o'er  him, 

Ascending  in  that  fire, 
All  that  of  earth  was  earthly 

Burnt  as  on  funeral  pyre , 
All,  save  the  seer's  mantle 

Down  floating  on  the  wind, 
To  serve  as  a  rod  for  the  man  of  God, 

At  Jordan  left  behind  ; 

While  that  ethereal  body 

Flew  upward  to  the  sky, 
Companion  with  the  angels 

Of  the  Holy  and  Most  High ; 
Ages  to  dwell  in  glory, 

Till  his  second  mission  came, 
Again  to  descend,  and  with  earth  to  blend, 

In  his  transfigured  frame. 

Not  in  Beersheba's  desert, 

Nor  yet  on  Carmel's  height; 

But  on  mount -circled  Tabor, 
With  other  glories  bright. 

•  Pealms  lxviii.  17  ;  civ.  4. 


117 


For  there  that  elder  Prophet, 

Whom  th'  -unseen  Hand  had  laid 

In  his  secret  grave,  where  the  pine  trees  wave, 
O'er  Moab's  valley's  shade, 

Angels  were  sent  to  waken 

From  his  thousand  years  of  sleep, 
And  in  silent  trust,  o'er  his  sacred  dust 

No  longer  vigil  keep. 
They  bore  him  shining  garments 

From  the  palaces  above, 
As  the  snowflakes  white,  yet  glistering  bright, 

With  golden  sunbeams  wove. 

Upon  that  "  holy  mountain  " 

The  glorious  twain  appear, 
The  ris'n  and  the  chang'd,  to  meet 

The  "  Lord  of  glory  "  there ; 
While  'neath  the  "  overshadowing  " 

Three  of  the  Church  on  earth, 
Hear  from  the  cloud  a  voice  aloud, 

Proclaim  His  heavenly  birth.* 

Two  other  holy  voices 

Spake  of  His  death  beside ; 
Yet  the  one  who  knew  death's  bitterness, 

For  he  himself  had  died, 
Now  shows  th'  unbroken  tablet, 

As  in  that  ark  it  lies  ; 
And  the  harpings  sweet  of  the  Prophet  meet 

In  the  Lamb  of  the  sacrifice. 

•  Tliis  is  My  beloved  Sou. 


148 

0  wondrous  that  foreshadowing 

Of  the  great  gathering  day  ; 
Saints  living  at  His  coming, 

Saints  call'd  from  graves  away — 
"While  their  Lord  appears  in  vision, 

"  A  Lamb  that  had  been  slain," 
A  moment,  till  on  the  holy  hill 

It  is  all  bright  again. 

Joy  mingles  with  their  tremblings 

In  such  resplendent  light, 
And  love  would  rear  them  dwellings 

Lest  all  should  fade  from  sight. 
But  vain  the  wish'd  detention, 

Their  hallow' d  work  is  done, 
For  the  stars  of  morn  when  the  day  is  born 

Extinguish  in  the  sun. 

O  mantle  of  the  Prophet, 

Still  with  the  Church  abide ; 
Dark  rivers  yet  are  flowing, 

Our  pilgrimage  beside. 
Smite,  smite  again  the  waters ! 

That  Jordan's  parted  wave 
May  shew  that  the  word  of  Elijah's  Lord 

Still  triumphs  o'er  the  grave. 


149 


BIRTHDAY    WISHES. 

TO   A  FRIEND. 


A  fellow-traveller  fain  would  send, 

On  this  thy  festal  day, 
The  cordial  greetings  of  a  friend : 

"Wilt  thou  accept  his  lay  ? 

To  him  'tis  unknown  how  far  yet 

Thou  hast  travell'd  on  life's  way — 

How  many  birthdays  thou  hast  met, 
How  many  more  thou  may. 

At  most,  these  milestones  only  tell 
The  distance  we  have  trod ; 

They  have  no  numbers  whence  to  spell 
How  long  our  further  road. 

One  man  alone  of  all  our  race 

Was  told  what  birthdays  more, 

By  Him  who  measures  time  and  space, 
For  him  were  kept  in  store. 


150 

How  would  he  bid  his  time-glass  stand. 

Its  shortening  tale  to  tell ! 
How  would  he  mark  its  lessening  sand, 

As  grain  by  grain  it  fell ! 

Upon  thy  dial  may  no  shade 

Like  this  be  ever  cast ; 
Bright  be  thy  every  birthday  made, 

Each  brighter  than  the  last. 


151 


TKANSLATION  OF  A   POEM   ON  THE 
LOVE  OF   CHEIST, 

BY  THE  LATE  COUNT  ALEXANDER  SCLOPIS ;    GIVEN  TO  THE 
WRITER  BY  HIS  SON,  COUNT   FREDERIC  SCLOPIS, 


0  thou  who  seek'st  repose 
From  all  thine  earthly  woes ; 
Whether  remorse  thy  mind, 
Or  pains  thy  body  bind, 
Quick  unto  Jesus  flee, 
Who  gave  Himself  to  be 
(Offering  above  all  price), 
The  Lamb  of  Sacrifice ; 
For  in  His  heart  the  spear 
Opened  for  every  tear 
A  balm,  and  His  sweet  voice 
Invites  thee  to  rejoice  ; 
By  sin  or  grief  oppress' t — 
"  Come  unto  Me  and  rest." 

O  where  can  any  find, 
One  like  to  Jesus  kind  ! 
Even  while  Him  they  slay'd, 
He  to  the  Father  pray'd; 
He  would  their  sin  forgive, 
And  let  the  murderers  live. 


152 

In  Him  do  angels  joy, 
Then  such  be  our  employ, 
Daily  to  Him  look  up — 
Our  sweet  unfailing  hope. 
The  wounds  our  sins  have  shew'd, 
Cleanse  "by  His  precious  blood, 
And  unto  us  impart 
The  new  and  loving  heart ; 
For  this,  0  Father,  day  by  day, 
"We  lowly  kneel,  and  humbly  pray. 


THE  ABOVE-MENTIONED  POEM. 


Voi,  che  cercate  requie 
Nei  mali  vostri,  o  l'anima 
Punga  il  rimorso,  o  il  debito 
Castigo  il  corpo  maceri : 


Ite  a  Gesu,  che  diedesi 
Qual  Agno  al  sacrificio, 
Nel  cuor  che  apri  la  lancia, 
Ite  a  pigliar  ricovero. 


153 

Udite,  come  invitavi 
Con  voci  suavissime: 
Venite  a  me,  voi  miseri, 
Yoi,  che  i  peccati  opprimono. 

Chi  di  Gesu  piu  amabile  ? 
Prega  pe'  suoi  carnefici 
L'eterno  Padre,  e  scusali 
Voglioso  di  non  perderli. 

0  euor  gioja  degli  Angeli 
Di  noi  speme  certissima, 
Tai  voci  a  Te  chiamano, 
A  Te  veniamo  supplici. 

Le  nostre  piaghe  a  tergere 
Stilli  il  Tuo  sangue  vivido : 
Da  nuovo  cuore  agli  nomini 
Che  Te  gemendo  invocano. 


154 


TRANSLATION   OF   A  POEM 

BY   THE   LATE    COUNT   ALEXANDER    SCLOPIS,    TURIN. 


Seest  thou  that  prisoner  sleeping  in  his  cell  ? 
With  fetter' d  limbs,  and  soldiers  at  his  sides  ; 
His  soul  at  peace,  although  he  knoweth  well 
A  martyr's  death  at  dawn  of  day  betides. 

For  had  not  Herod  rais'd  his  bloody  hand 

Against  another  servant  of  the  Lord  ? 

A  brother  in  the  apostolic  band ; 

Vexing  the  Church,  and  killing  with  the  sword. 

Seest,  too,  that  tyrant,  resolute  to  kill, 
While  dazzling  robes  of  gold  his  shoulders  span  ?  * 
Vain  with  blaspheming  shouts  the  air  that  fill, 
"  A  God  is  speaking,  not  the  voice  of  man !  " 

An  Eye  above  beholds  them  both  ;  an  Ear 
To  blasphemy  and  prayer  like  audience  lends  ; 
Charged  with  a  mission  from  th'  angelic  sphere, 
To  each  an  unseen  messenger  descends. 

The  darken' d  dungeon  shines  with  heavenly  light ; 
The  angel  smites  the  prisoner — lo  !   his  chains 
Fall  from  his  hands ;  the  iron  gate  in  sight 
Self-mo v'd  unfolds ;  the  captive  freedom  gains ! 

*  Josephus  describes  Herod's  royal  robe  on  that  occasion  as  of  tissue  of 
gold,  bright  in  the  sun's  rays  ;  so  glittering,  that  the  people  could  scarce 
behold  it. 


155 

Far  different  the  stroke  the  angel  gave 
To  the  proud  monarch  on  his  royal  throne— 
Mortal  distempers  seize  him  for  the  grave, 
And  worms  his  body  as  their  banquet  own. 

Oh !  who  that  yesterday  beheld  that  twain — 
Pitying  the  prisoner,  envying  the  king, 
But  sees  how  blest  the  captive  in  his  chain, 
And  how  the  tyrant's  crown  a  cursed  thing  ! 


LA  LIBERAZIONE  DI  PIETRO  OPERATA 
DALL'ANGELO. 

Gia  tronco  il  capo  a  Jacopo,  volea 

L'iniquo  Erode  dannar  Pietro  a  morte : 
E  i  piedi  stretti  fra  l'aspre  ritorte 
Dai  crudi  sgherri  custodir  lo  fea. 

Nel  carcere  dormendo  Ei  si  giacea, 

Quando  il  Messo  Divin  colla  man  forte 
Lo  scosse ;  e  aperte  a  lui  le  ferree-porte 
Repente  lo  salvo  dell'  ira  Ebrea. 

Col  suo  Liberator  di  la  partio ; 

Ne  uscir  dalla  prigione  Egli  s'accorse, 
Se  non  allor  che  l'Angelo  spario. 

Cosi  deluso  di  sua  brama  insana 

Quel  Re  malvagio  ambe  le  man  si  morse 
Contro  il  cielo  non  val  possanza  umana, 


156 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  THE  KEY.  DE.  MARSH, 

IN   BEDDINGTON    CHURCHYARD,    SURREY, 
AGED    90. 


The  tears  that  fell  in  that  open  grave 

Spoke  not  alone  of  grief; 
Out  flowing  there  were  holier  springs, 

The  mourner's  sweet  relief. 

The  "  full  of  days  "  had  been  "  full  of  joy ; 

This  word  had  been  writ  by  him : 
"  With  family  mercies  my  Father  has  fill'd 

My  golden  cup  to  the  brim." 

For  more  than  threescore  years,  his  voice 

In  sweetest  tones  had  told 
The  love  of  his  Saviour  to  wandering  man, 

Gathering  flocks  to  His  fold. 

And  faithful  brethren  had  come  from  far, 
To  mourn  and  to  bury  him  there ; 

And  seeing  the  Church's  troublous  times, 
To  join  in  the  Church's  prayer. 

While  one  of  that  band,  in  the  name  of  all, 
At  the  foot  of  the  grave  was  heard 

Exalting  the  Saviour,  not  the  saint. 
In  the  Church's  threefold  word. 


157 

"The  voice  from  heaven,"  proclaiming  Him 

The  "  Eesurrection  Life," 
In  whom  believers  are  conquerors  made 

Amid  the  deadly  strife. 

The  voice  from  the  grave  itself,  "  I  know- 
Christ,  my  Redeemer,  lives ; 

From  this  tomb  I  shall  see  Him  in  that  new  life 
Which  to  His  saints  He  gives." 

The  voice  of  the  mourners,  calming  their  grief 

With  the  truth  of  the  holy  Word : 
"  'Tis  the  Lord  who  hath  taken — 'twas  He  who  gave ; 

Bless' d  be  the  name  of  the  Lord !  " 

Scarce  had  these  voices  died  away, 

Still  upward  turn'd  our  eye, 
There  flew  overhead  to  its  nest  in  the  woods, 

A  dove  in  the  evening  sky. 

It  told  us,  that  gentle  spirit  fled, 

Which  that  beautiful  body  had  borne, 

Had  but  gone  to  his  rest,  as  his  work  was  done, 
Till  the  second  Advent  morn  ; 

Then  from  the  dust  of  the  earth  to  spring, 

And  a  glorified  frame  unfold, 
Bright  as  that  dove  with  its  silver  wings, 

And  feathers  of  yellow  gold. 


158 


ON   THE   5th   AUGUST,    1865 


'Tis  five  and  thirty  years  agone 
This  morn,  my  dearest  love, 

Since  Holy  Church  with  happiest  skill, 
Our  marriage  garment  wove. 

Right  well  the  goodly  robe  has  worn ; 

No  rent,  no  ravell'd  fray  ; 
Its  hues,  if  not  so  gaily  bright, 

Have  never  fled  away. 

If  one  dear  child  that  cheer' d  our  hearth 
Is  miss'd  among  the  seven, 

'Tis  that  her  happy  spirit  found 
The  Father's  home  in  heaven. 

Great  joys  continue  still  our  lot, 
Tho'  mingled  oft  with  care ; 

And  if  the  one  awaken  praise, 

The  other's  soothed  by  prayer. 


159 


HAEEIET'S  GEAVE,   WINDSOK  CEMETEEY. 

HER  BIRTHDAY,    AUGUST  28,  1816 
HER  BURIAL  DAY,  AUGUST  28,  1866. 


Rom.  xiv.  8. 

Our  sister's  name  was  on  the  lid, 
Our  Saviour's  cross  above  : 

Blest  shadow  !  where  our  sins  are  hid, 

Through  Faith,  and  Hope,  and  Love. 

As  it  went  down,  we  laid  thereon 

A  flower  white  as  snow  : 
So  on  the  Mount  His  raiment  shone, 

And  her's  shall  glisten  so. 

It  was  the  flower  whose  circling  wreath 
Gleams  as  a  pearly  crown  :  * 

It  told  us,  that  His  feet  beneath, 
Her's  she  was  laying  down. 

Ah,  Saviour !  look  on  us  who  must 

A  while  yet  longer  stay ! 
Let  us  not  "  cleave  unto  the  dust," 

Gold  dust,  or  mortal  clay. 

All  that  denies,  in  us  depress — 

All  that  is  pure,  restore  ! 
The  earthly  image,+  daily  less — 

The  Heavenly,  daily  more. 

*  The  Stephanotus.         + 1  Cor.  xv.  49. 


160 


ON   THE 

BAPTISM    OF   MY   ELDEST    SON'S 

EIEST  CHILD 

(EMILY    MABEL    VIRTUE), 

AT  STOKE  BISHOP  CHURCH. 
7th  OCTOBER,  1866. 


They  brought  young  children  to  Christ,  that  He  should  touch 

them."— Mark  x  13. 
'  That  He  should  put  His  hand  on  them  and  pray."— Matt.  xix.  13. 
They  brought  unto  Him  infants."— Luke  xviii.  15. 


Who  were  these  infants'  friends 

The  Saviour's  touch  that  sought  f 

That  through  the  thronging  multitude 
The  little  children  brought  ? 

Was  it  parental  love, 

A  brother's,  sister's  care, 

That  over  helpless  infancy 

Invok'd  a  Saviour's  prayer  ? 

Did  expectation  dim, 

Uncertain  blessings  crave  ? 
Or  was  it  faith's  discerning  eye 

That  saw  His  touch  could  save  ? 


161 

Perhaps  the  blind  were  there, 
The  deaf  man,  or  the  dumb  ; 

The  leper,  or  the  quicken' d  dead, 
May  mid  the  crowd  have  come. 

Sufferers  from  countless  ills, 
And  broken  hearted,  such 

Long  ere  that  day  His  path  had  track' d 
And  felt  His  healing  touch. 


He  touch' d  these  sightless  eyes, 
They  hailed  the  light  of  day ! 

My  burning  hand  in  His  He  took, 
My  fever  fled  away ! 

My  deafen' d  ear,  my  tongue, 

My  loathsome,  leprous  frame 

He  touch' d— at  once,  both  hearing,  speech, 
And  cleansing  virtue,  came. 

My  daughter's  lifeless  hand, 

My  dead  son's  funeral  bier 
He  touch' d,  and  life  again  came  back! 

Are  these,  then,  present  here  P* 


•All  these  miracles  are  recorded  in  the  Gospels  as  Laving  preceded  the 
bringing  the  children  to  Christ.  Mark  i.  30-41 ;  v.  41 ;  vii.  33  ;  viii.  22,  23. 
Luke  vii.  14. 


162 

Ah !  is  it  thus  to  Him 

Our  little  ones  we  bring  ? 

And  for  that  we  have  felt  His  touch, 
To  Him,  for  them,  we  cling  ? 

Then  not  an  instant  doubt, 
But "  earnestly  believe, 

This  charitable  work  of  ours 
He'll  graciously  receive." 

Close  in  His  arms  of  love, 
This  little  one  embrace  ; 

And  in  His  Heavenly  Father's  home 
Prepare  for  it  a  place. 


163 


THE    TWO    SUBMAKINE    CABLES 
.     PASSION  AND  PATIENCE. 

A  DIALOGUE,  1865-66. 


Fiust  Cable  to  Second  Cable. 
"  So !  my  tormentors  have  brought  you  here 
In  this  deep  Atlantic  sea ; 
And  strapp'd,  and  stiffen' d,  and  bandag'd  you  up, 
The  same  as  they  did  to  me. 

"  '  Scientific '  they  call  themselves,  and  all 
That  pompous  sort  of  thing ; 
But  0  !  the  anguish  they  put  me  through, 
Sharp  as  a  serpent's  sting. 

u  They  dragg'd  me  out  of  my  bed  in  the  mine, 
And  then  to  the  furnace  fire ; 
And  squeez'd  me  out  into  miles  of  length, 
Thin  as  a  thread  of  wire. 

"  Then  over  the  rugged  rocks  was  I  borne, 
And  stow'd  in  a  ship  away ; 
And  because  I  tried  to  escape  their  hands, 
They  '  paid  me  out '  in  a  Bay. 

"  They  had  chok'd  me  up  with  waxen' d  bands, 
Not  a  breath  of  air  could  I  breathe ; 
Nor  see  a  twinkling  of  light  come  through 
My  Gutta  Percha  sheath. 


164 


"  Ah,  worse !  through  my  sensitive,  quiv'ring  frame 
The  lightning's  flash  they  shot ; 
And  laugh' d  at  the  heats  of  my  flick' ring  pulse, 
As  though  some  delight  they'd  got. 

*'  But,  summoning  strength  one  stormy  day, 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  ; 
So  I  snapp'd  off  my  tail,  and  dived  in  the  sea, 
Two  thousand  fathoms  "below. 

"  And  now  to  you,  my  hrother,  I  mean 
This  friendly  advice  to  give  : 
Come,  follow  your  leader,  and  lie  down  here, 
If  you  wish  in  quiet  to  live."  • 

Thus  murmur' d,  and  grumhled,  and  fretted  away, 

In  most  untowardly  fashion, 
The  Cable  of  "Eighteen  Sixty-five  ; 

And  they  called  him  the  Cable  of  Passion. 

But  listen  awhile,  and  calmer  thought 
"With  wiser  instruction  may  hence 

Flow  to  us  all  from  the  temperate  words 
Of  the  last  laid  Cable  Patience. 

They  were  not  twins,  those  Cables,  though  born 
Of  the  very  same  father  and  mother  ; 

But  the  Cable  of  "Eighteen  Sixty-six," 

Had  been  much  better  trained  than  his  brother. 


165 

Second  Cable  Speaks. 
"  My  pet,"  lie  said,  "  in  addressing  you  thus, 
I'm  not  intending  a  pun, 
You  really  must,  for  I  know  your  worth, 
These  misconceptions  shun. 

"  Our  swaddling  bands  have  sav'd  our  lives ; 
And,  though  they  were  not  our  choice, 
Those  very  twitches  of  galvanic  pain, 
Created  our  wonderful  voice. 

"  Your  talents  you've  buried  too  long  in  the  sea, 
Awake  !  arise !  and  teach ; 
My  words  shall  be  flying  from  east  to  west, 
Unite  then  with  mine  your  speech. 

"  The  men  you  call '  tormentors '  are  friends 
To  the  whole  of  the  human  race ; 
Though  rough  their  hands  with  electric  shocks, 
Their  kindness  I  read  in  their  face. 

"  One  of  my  arms  upon  Britain's  isles 
They  laid,  and  the  other  twirl'd 
And  stretch' d  till  it  reach' d  the  glorious  shores 
Of  Columbus's  wondrous  world. 

"  So,  as  that  Great  One,  whom  Christians  own, 
Sent  out  by  two  and  two, 
Messengers  meek  to  the  children  of  men, 
Let  us  united  go. 

"  Bind  we  the  sever' d  worlds  in  one, 

Bid  we  dissensions  cease ; 
War's  wicked  batteries  let  us  exchange 
For  innocent  batteries,  longer  in  range, 

The  telegrams  of  peace." 


166 


EDWAED'S  WOEDS  ON  SENDING  HIM  SOME 
VEKY  LAEGE  FETJIT  : 

11  There  are  giants  in  those  parts." 


Grand  words !  but  we  inhabit  not 
The  island  said  to  nourish 

Giants  ;  and  yet  we  gladly  own 

Some  great  things  with  us  nourish. 

You  call  our's  giant  apples, 
And  we  have  a  giant  pear, 

A  plant  of  giant  ivy, 

And — Giant  Gorham's  chair. 

But,  larger  than  its  elbows 

Or  rocks  on  which  they  rest, 

Are  brotherly  affections 

And  love  in  sisters'  breast. 


September  14, 1866. 


167 
THE  SEA  AND  THE  SHOEE 

A   PAKABLE   OF  NATURE. 


I  heard  the  sound  of  voices, 

As  I  stood  on  the  grand  sea  shore ; 

And  they  seem'd,  as  I  loDger  listen' d, 
Distincter  more  and  more. 

They  rolled  on  like  a  murmur 

Between  the  shore  and  the  sea  ; 

And  there  came  out  tones  of  wrangling, 
As  clearly  as  could  be. 

The  first  to  open  discussion 

Was  the  sand  and  shingly  beach, 

Addressing  the  waves  of  the  ocean 
Quite  in  reproachful  speech. 

"  Oh  restless,  restless  waters ! 

When  will  your  tumult  cease  ? 
For  your  endless  dashings  and  splashings 
I  get  not  a  moment's  peace. 

"  I'm  for  a  life  of  quiet, 

And  long  to  continue  at  rest ; 
But  down  come  your  fresh  waves  foaming 
Like  torrents  over  my  breast. 


168 

At  times,  'tis  true,  in  the  sunshine, 
A  little  more  gently  you  move  ; 

But  even  then  on  my  shingles 
You  give  me  a  terrible  shove. 

"  While  as  soon  as  the  winds  are  gusty 
You're  howling  and  tossing  indeed, 

And  dashing  the  stones  on  my  pillow, 
You  cover  me  over  with  weed. 

"  I  wonder  you  are  not  weary 

Of  all  this  noisy  riot ; 
And  in  place  of  fretting  and  fuming, 

Learn  to  be  calm  and  quiet." 


And  now  'twas  the  turn  of  the  waters 
A  word  in  defence  to  say — 
"  A  pretty  lesson  to  teach  us, 
Here  at  this  time  of  day ! 

"  Six  thousand  years  and  upwards 

We've  always  been  living  thus  ; 
And  tho'  many  our  faults,  as  a  failing, 
This  was  never  yet  reckon' d  to  us. 

"  We  were  ever  for  active  motion, 
A  life  of  stirring  ways  ; 
And,  to  say  the  truth,  we've  often 
Stormed  at  your  idle  days. 


169 

"  There  you're  for  ever  lying, 

Down  at  our  feet  like  a  log ; 
And  do  what  we  will,  it  is  useless 
To  get  you  to  move  and  jog. 

"  E'en  when  we  shake  your  shingles, 
They  presently  settle  again  ; 
And  to  rouse  you  to  active  duty, 
Seems  altogether  in  vain. 

"  Often  we've  dash'd  our  waters 

Upon  your  sand's  brown  skin  ; 
But  it's  porous  as  any  filter, 

And  quickly  it  drinks  them  in. 

"  There  in  the  same  position, 

Continuing  all  the  year  through, 
You  lie  along  like  a  sluggard, 

As  in  life  you  had  nothing  to  do.' 


Just  then  the  voice  of  another, 
Came  from  a  rock  close  by ; 

'Twas  a  hermit  crab  who  had  listen' d 
To  these  words  of  wrangling  high 

And  to  interpose  resolving, 

He  lifted  him  up  with  a  twirl, 

To  do  the  work  of  a  preacher 

In  his  pulpit  of  mother  of  pearl. 


170 

"  My  friends  !  you  are  both  in  error, 
Reproving  each  other  thus  : 
I've  liv'd  with  you  both  in  common, 

And  known  you  for  better  and  worse. 

"  You  !  waves  of  the  sea  are  restless, 
To  keep  the  sea  shore  sweet ; 
For  creation's  lords  and  ladies 

Would  else  never  come  to  your  feet, 

"  And  you,  sea  sand  and  shingles, 
Have  a  work  of  equal  worth  ; 
You  bound  the  ocean's  waters, 

That  they  never  come  further  forth. 

"  Then  learn  alike  contentment, 

Peace  to  each  other's  breast ; 
Tour  path  is  active  motion, 
And  yours  is  useful  rest." 


Both  listen' d,  then  thank' d  the  preacher 
For  his  counsel  calm  and  good ; 

And  both  resolv'd  to  reward  him 
In  such  wise  as  they  could. 

The  sea,  with  a  tender  mollusc, 
Whenever  he  took  the  wave  : 

The  beach,  with  a  nightly  shelter, 
In  a  hole  of  some  cosy  cave. 


171 


THOUGHTS  FOE  THE  SOLEMN   SERVICE 

AT   THE 

OPENING  OF  THE  CHUECH  AT  CANNES, 

NOVEMBER  25,  1866. 


It  was  at  Jerusalem  the  feast  of  the  dedication,  and  it  was  winter." 

—John  x.  22. 

Blest  Saviour,  in  Jerusalem, 

"When  Thou  didst  dwell  with  men, 

There  was  a  "dedication"  day, 
And  "it  was  winter"  then. 

And  in  the  temple  Thou  wast  seen 

Its  sacred  "  porch  "  to  pace ; 
"A  greater"  than  the  Jewish  king, 

Whose  name  was  on  the  place.* 

For  there  Thou  didst  to  men  declare 

Thy  mysteries  of  love ; 
Themselves  Thy  straying  flock,  Thyself 

Their  Shepherd  from  above. 

•  Solomon's  porch. 


172 

And  Thou  didst  speak  of  other  sheep, 

Not  of  that  ancient  fold ; 
0  !  may  we  hope  it  was  of  us 

Thy  promise  then  was  told. 

"Them  also  I  must  bring,  and  they 
My  voice  shall  also  hear ; " 

It  is  for  this  blest  Saviour  now, 
Our  souls  are  gather' d  here. 

It  is  with  us  a  festal  day, 

It  is  our  "  winter"  now  ; 

We  would  a  " dedication"  keep, 
Its  joy,  its  glory  Thou ! 

"Walk"  in  our  temple,  in  each  heart 
Take  up  Thy  blest  abode  ; 

At  once  our  Shepherd  and  our  Hope, 
The  spotless  Lamb  of  God. 

And  while  thanksgivings  are  outpour' d 
For  such  a  house  of  prayer ; 

0  let  a  rich  reward  be  given 
To  him  who  plac'd  it  there. 


173 


THE   SEEYICE  AT   THE   HOTEL  PEGLI, 

ON  SUNDAY,  JANUARY,  27,  1867, 
BY    THE    EEV.    THEO.    B.    ROWE, 

OF   UPPINGHAM,    RUTLANDSHIRE. 


Numbers  vi.  23,  26.     2  Cor.  xiii.  13. 

The  fitful  week  of  storms  was  past ; 
The  Sabbath  calm  had  come  at  last, 
And  with  it,  one  from  our  own  land, 
Bearing  his  Master's  high  command, 
His  scatter  d  flock,  wherever  found, 
To  gather,  as  on  holy  ground. 

G-lad,  th'  inviting  voice  to  hear, 
We  join'd  him  in  the  Church's  prayer  ; 
List'ning  intent  while  he  referr'd 
To  message  of  the  Holy  Word. 

Ah !  if  to  some  that  wondrous  Word 
Prove  sharper  than  a  two-edg'd  sword ; 
To  hearts  that  seek  a  heavenly  home 
'Tis  sweeter  than  the  honeycomb. 

Such  was  it,  then,  with  either  hand, 
The  fruit  was  cull'd  from  promis'd  land : 
Their  ripen' d  clusters  brought  in  view, 
The  elder  covenant  and  the  new — 


174 

The  blessing  spoke  by  Israel's  priest, 
And  words  wherewith  Apostles  bless' d. 

Jehovah,  ancient  Israel's  Guard, 
Thy  Leader  be,  thy  safe  Rereward  ! 
Making  thy  night  to  shine  as  day, 
"With  light  His  mercy's  beams  display  ; 
Bless  thee,  and  keep  thee,  and  His  face 
Lift  bright  on  thee  in  every  place ; 
And,  until  all  thy  wanderings  cease, 
Thy  spirit  fill  with  perfect  peace  \ 

Sweet  words  from  old  Gerizim :   yet 
Echoes  more  sweet  from  Olivet, 
Heard  by  the  younger  Church — the  love 
Of  God  the  Father  from  above ; 
And  His  right  hand,  the  holy  place 
Of  His  dear  Son,  sufficient  grace! 
Th'  ineffable  communion  sweet, 
Of  Holy  Ghost,  the  Paraclete. 

"We  thank  thee,  messenger  of  God, 
Thus  faithful  scattering  abroad 
The  consolations  which  impart 
Reviving  strength  to  fainting  heart. 

"Words  these  are  like  the  balmy  gale 
"Which  on  these  shores  are  bid  prevail, 
"Warmth,  Light,  and  Air,  their  force  combining 
Creation's  Trinity  !  whose  shining 
Symbols  the  blessings  we  inherit, 
From  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit. 


175 


THE    DISAPPOINTMENT. 

THE    STARS    THAT    WERE    TO    FALL,    BUT   DID    NOT. 


I  shook  off  my  sleep,  in  that  midnight, 

And  watch' d  till  the  early  morning  light, 

Hoping  that  haply  I  might  behold 

The  wondrous  vision  astronomers  told 

As  coming,  meteors  streaming  high, 

One  half  of  the  stars  forsaking  the  sky, 

As  though  the  strifes  of  the  Church  and  the  world 

Had  up  to  heaven  dissension  hurl'd ; 

Making  the  bright  ones  in  that  calm  spot, 

So  discontented  with  their  lot, 

As  madly  conspiring  no  longer  to  stay, 

But  to  snatch  up  their  lamps  and  hurry  away, 

None  of  them  knowing  exactly  where, 

Only  determining  not  to  shine  there ; 

And  thinking  to  spoil  the  nightly  show 

Of  the  best  of  its  glory  when  they  should  go. 

Hours  I  waited,  but  all  in  vain, 
Bright  was  as  ever  the  glorious  train  ; 
There  were  the  stars,  they  stood  their  ground, 
From  east  to  west  the  horizon  round : 


176 


" Corona"  refusing  to  part  with  a  gem, 

From  out  of  her  glittering  diadem  ; 

And  "  Cassiopeia,"  like  virgin  fair, 

Kesting  at  ease  in  her  golden  chair  ; 

"  Orion,"  in  warrior's  armour,  he 

Watch' d  o'er  the  Mediterranean  Sea  ; 

Jewels  his  shoulder  knots,  and  beneath 

His  diamond  hilted  sword,  its  sheath 

With  its  three  stars  as  ever  bright, 

Sparkling  out  on  that  peaceful  night. 

Not  one  of  the  wheels  of  Charles's  wain 

Had  started  aside  from  the  sapphire  plain, 

Nor  one  of  the  team  that  drew  his  car, 

Each  courser's  frontlet  a  beaming  star  ; 

Unmov'd  by  earth  those  heavenly  graces, 

The  "twins"  yet  smil'd  in  each  other's  embraces  ; 

And  "fix'd"  above  all  unseemly  jars, 

Unsever'd  the  rest  of  the  "  double  stars  ;  " 

Not  a  single  bright  stone  miss'd  away 

From  that  pavement  of  pearls  the  "  milky  way," 

Though  there  the  opal  and  topaz  stand, 

Countless  as  grains  on  the  sea  shore  sand. 

Ah !  if  ever  a  rebel  thought, 
Had  to  those  spheres  in  sadness  brought 
A  wish  to  wander,  most  surely  then 
All  had  been  sooth' d  to  contentment  again. 
And  I  thought  I  saw  the  reason  why, 
The  Queen  of  the  Heavens  was  in  the  sky, 
And  her  calm  glory  and  presence  bright, 
United  them  all  in  "  ruling  the  night." 


177 


Times  there  are  when  her  face  is  veil'd, 

Her  very  orbit  itself  concealed ; 

It  is  not  a  marvel  then  to  say, 

That  a  few  of  her  maidens  have  lost  their  way 

But  when  uplifting  her  saintly  face, 

Then  even  the  planets  will  keep  their  place. 

So  may  it  be  in  this  lower  sphere, 
If  wayward  passions  awaken  fear 
Among  her  people  ;  let  but  our  Queen 
In  her  appointed  place  be  seen, 
Murmuring  voices  will  all  be  hush'd, 
Revolt  by  loyalty  quickly  crush' d. 
And  may  not  also  the  Church  discern 
Her  path,  and  meekly  wisdom  learn ; 
How  soonest  dissensions  she  may  control, 
And  render  the  wounded  spirits  whole  ? 
Full  as  the  moon  in  the  heavens  to  shine, 
Reflecting  clearly  the  light  divine, 
More  of  celestial  radiance  bear, 
That  lesser  lights  its  influence  share, 
Each  in  his  orbit  content  to  move, 
A  non-eccentric  path  of  love ; 
Feeble  contentions  then  will  cease, 
And  "holy  communion"  to  all  bring  peace. 

Psgli,  Italy,  Nov.  lith,  1867. 


178 
CAEOLINE'S    LETTEE, 

JUST  BEFORE    CHRISTMAS,   1867. 


"  That  no  shadow  may  be  cast  on.  our  approaching  festival." 

Thy  prayer  be  heard,  that  no  dark  shadow  cast 
Its  gloom  upon  our  holy  festive  day ; 

And  least  of  all  that  gloom,  the  mother  dove 
In  sadness  from  the  nest  be  missed  away. 

Ask,  that  the  loving  hand  so  oft  outstretch' d 
To  heal  and  comfort,  He  again  may  raise ; 

To  place  her  in  our  midst,  that  joy  and  health 

Be  in  our  dwelling,  "  and  our  voice  be  praise. 

He  knoweth  best  how  to  dispose  us  all ; 

Yet  will  allow  our  hearts  their  wish  to  tell. 
Her  feeble  frame,  believing,  we  commend 

To  Him,  and  rest  in  hope  it  shall  be  well. 

Yet,  know  we  should  His  tender  love  ordain, 
As  once  of  old,  the  shadow  shall  retire 

Its  ten  degrees  upon  the  dial,  still 

Those  ten  degrees  must  at  the  last  expire. 

So  let  our  faith  mid  sorrows  and  thro'  fears, 
Onward  to  that  blest  gathering  day  extend, 

Whereon  the  sun  shall  never  more  go  down, 
Its  light  without  a  shadow,  cloud,  or  end. 

Pegli,  December,  1867. 


179 


TO    MY    DEAE    BEOTHER-IN-LAW 

(late  bishop  of  bombay), 
AND    HIS    TWIN    BROTHER 

(THE   E.EV.    THOMAS   HARD  IN  g), 
ON   THEIR    BIRTHDAY,    JANUARY   7th,  1868. 


Some  sages  of  the  sky  declare, 
That  certain  double  stars  which  now  unite 
Their  radiance  in  one  common  orbit  bright, 
"Were  not  at  all  times  thus  approximate  ; 
But  that,  by  nebulous  affinities  attract, 
They  slow  combin'd,  and  added  thus  conjoint, 
E'en  to  the  sparkling  glory  of  the  heavens. 

It  was  not  so  with  those  pure  double  stars, 
The  constellation  of  the  heavenly  twins  ; 
Together  they  were  born  on  that  blest  day, 
"When  all  the  morning  stars  together  sang, 
And  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy ; 
Together  they  have  dwelt  in  fond  embrace, 
And  from  the  calm  serene  of  their  abode 


180 


Look'd  down  upon  the  clouds  and  storms  of  earth, 
And  sought,  by  blended  light,  to  guide  and  bless. 

Such  are  the  "brethren  favoured  of  the  Lord," 
Whose  "  festival  "  we  celebrate  this  day ; 
Together  they  inhal'd  first  breath  of  life, 
Together  gave  that  life  to  God,  to  serve 
Him  in  His  Church's  sacred  ministry : 
Mutual  in  counsel  and  in  brother's  love, 
Sustaining  each  the  other  in  his  sphere. 
To  wanderers  they  have  shown  the  path  of  life  ; 
To  mourners  made  their  night  shine  out  as  day. 
Our  prayer  to-day  that  they  may  long  abide, 
Many  to  turn  to  ways  of  righteousness, 
Then  shine  as  double  stars  for  evermore. 


181 


THE  SHIP  LAUNCH  AT  SESTKL 


It  was  a  glorious  morn 

When  on  the  shore  we  went, 

Of  Sestri's  gentle  steep ; 

The  gallant  vessel  forward  bent, 

For  its  first  plunge  into  the  deep. 

.   Before,  the  waveless  sea ; 
Above,  the  cloudless  sky  ; 
Around,  the  sweep  of  Yoltri's  bay, 
Its  purple  mountains  high, 
Bright  with  the  sunbeams  from  the  east, 
Gleaming  on  every  snowy  crest. 

Amid  this  joyous  scene 

Stood  out  the  gallant  ship, 

Rearing  aloft  its  masts, 

Eager,  like  greyhound  on  the  slip 
Proudly  to  rush  upon  the  seas, 
And  wave  its  banners  in  the  breeze. 


182 

And  now  its  lord's  command 

Loos' d  its  last  earthly  band ; 
Its  spring  is  made,  and  with  a  force, 
Gently  increasing  in  its  course, 

It  breaks  the  waters,  which  divide 

And  let  it  far  in  ocean  glide  ; 
Till  its  force  spent,  it  turns  to  rest, 
A  swan  upon  the  waters'  breast. 

And  may  it  to  a  human  soul, 
In  wondrous  love  be  given, 
To  spurn  away  each  earthly  tie, 
And  thus  to  glide  to  heav'n  ? 

It  may  ; — yet  more  ; — that  noble  ship 

May  meet  the  perils  of  the  deep, 

Be  tempest  tost,  stranded,  or  break 

On  rocky  shores,  a  piteous  wreck ; 
But  human  soul  redeemed,  all  perils  o'er, 
Rests  in  the  ocean  of  God's  love,  for  ever,  evermore. 

January  27,  1868. 


183 


WATCHING  FOR  ANOTHER  LAUNCH. 


AT   A   DISTANCE, 


ON   THE   ROCKS   NEAR   THE   VARENNA  VALLEY. 


There  on  the  shore  of  Sestri's  ample  Bay, 

Stands  firm  the  fleet  of  hulls,  and  masts,  and  spars ; 

One  at  a  distance  marks  the  exciting  scene, 

As  ranged  around  are  living  multitudes, 

All  flush' d  with  expectations  of  delight : 

For,  from  amid  that  forest  as  of  pines, 

One  gallant  vessel  is  to  break  away, 

And  launch  its  course  upon  the  ocean  wave. 

But  how  discern  which  of  those  noble  ships 
Is  chosen  this  day  leader  of  the  band, 
To  glide  the  first  into  their  future  world  ? 

See  its  bright  planks  in  freshest  colours  drest, 
Gay  like  a  youth  in  holiday  attire ! 
Cordage  and  tackling  all  in  neatest  trim, 
And,  at  the  top  of  all  its  lofty  masts, 
Its  country's  pennons  floating  in  the  breeze. 


184 


It  seems  already  like  a  thing  of  life, 
Awaiting  only  till  the  beams  and  cords, 
That  hold  it  to  the  shore,  shall  loose  their  grasp, 
So  it  may  rush  upon  the  watery  deep. 

The  thoughts  turn  now  upon  that  mingled  crowd, 
Of  whom  each  soul  in  all  that  multitude, 
Must  one  day  launch  upon  one  common  sea, 
The  ocean  of  eternity  !    But  who 
Can  say  which  first  shall  go  ?    Who  truly  tell 
Which  is  in  suited  frame  to  reach  that  world  ? 

Ah !  search  within  ;  let  the  bright  vessel  teach 
Instruction.     Is  thy  heart  made  pure  and  clean 
As  are  those  newly  polish' d  planks  ?    Thy  thoughts 
And  best  affections  upward  raised  to  heaven 
Like  those  tall  masts  ?    Thy  soul's  desires 
Fill'd  by  the  breath  of  heaven,  as  the  wind 
Fills  that  ship's  banners  ?    Then  there  is  a  hope, 
When  present  earthly  bands  that  tie  thee  down 
Are  loosen' d,  thou  shalt  freely  glide  away 
Into  the  peaceful  waters  of  the  blest. 


185 


"OUK  TIMES  AEE  IN  HIS  HAND; 

SO   BE  IT.    AMEN." 
WORDS  OF  A  LETTER  OF  OCTOBER  80,  1868. 


"  Our  times  are  in  His  hand ! " 

O  thought  most  calm ; 
The  echo  of  a  Psalmist's  harp, 

Its  very  breath  is  "balm. 

Long  treasur'd  words  to  some — 

The  last  a  mother  dear 
Spake  to  her  sorrowing  children,  when 

Call'd  up  to  leave  them  here. 

And  now  a  sister's  voice, 

Repeats  the  holy  strain  ; 
Striving,  through  eyelids  dim  with  tears, 

To  scan  th'  unseen  in  vain. 

"  Our  times  are  in  His  hand ! " 
Where  else  could  we  approve 

Such  unknown  things  to  he  dispos'd, 
But  by  Almighty  Love  ? 

Not  by  our  own,  alas  ! 

What  errows  should  we  make ; 
Not  by  our  dearest  friends,  for  they 

Too  often  would  mistake. 


186 

No  !  'tis  His  hand  that  holds 

The  golden  balances,  to  see, 
To  weigh,  to  mete,  whatever  was, 

What  is,  what  is  to  be. 

•Tis  that  "  right  hand"  that  "  hath 

"Pre-eminence,"*  in  love 
As  well  as  wisdom ;  how  can  we 

By  better  guidance  move  ? 

E'en  on  the  stormy  sea 

His  rainbow  spann'd  the  wave  ; 

His  was  "  the  hand  that  bended  it,"  f 
His  "  sign  "  that  He  would  save. 

And  in  that  hand  are  prints  % 

Of  what  for  us  He  bare  ; 
Yet  more,  Himself  hath  told 

"  Our  names  are  graven  there."  § 

O,  blessed  flock  of  Christ ! 

Thy  peace  and  thy  defence, 
Safe  in  that  Shepherd's  hand,  || 

And  none  can  pluck  thee  thence. 

"  Into  Thy  hand,  then  Lord," 

Each  other  "  we  commend  ;  " 
Be  with  us  all,  in  life,  in  death, 
In  life's  rough  way,  and  with  expiring  breath, 
Our  ever-loving  Friend. II 

*  Ps.  cxviii.  16,  Prayer-Book  version.    +  Eccles.  xliii.  12  ;  Gen.  ix.  13  ; 

Ps.  lxxxix.  37.        *  Zech.  xiii.  6,  7.        \  Isaiah  xlix.  16.        ||  John  x.  28. 

M  "  The  friend  that  loveth  at  all  times."—  Proy.  xvii.  17. 


187 


THE    SEA-GULLS    AND    CURLEWS 

AT   MENTONE. 


Beautiful  sea-birds,  tell  me, 
Soaring  mid  sea  and  sky, 

Are  ye  the  same  that  cheer' d  me 
In  days  that  are  now  gone  by — 

When  I  walk'd  beside  these  waters,* 
On  their  aloe-border' d  shore  ? 

Or  are  ye  the  sons  and  daughters 
Of  some  that  are  seen  no  more  ? 

For  this  world  is  a  world  of  changes ; 

And  bird,  as  well  as  man, 
Hath  to  trace  out  its  ranges, 

Only  a  little  span. 

Yet  were  these  graceful  motions 
What  gave  me  then  delight — 

These  swift  and  airy  circlings 
O'er  the  blue  waters  bright : 

♦  April,  1863. 


188 

Now,  spreading  pinions  upward, 

As  though  your  home  were  heaven ; 

Now,  dipping  wings  in  the  wavelets, 
For  food  that  God  has  given. 

And  oft  ye  meet  in  clusters, 

Like  doves  of  snowy  hue, 
Flutt'ring  as  do  the  white  moths 

O'er  banks  of  violets  blue. 

But  whatsoe'er  your  courses, 

Ye  never  fail  to  fling 
A  ray  of  heaven's  own  brightness 

From  off  your  beating  wing. 

Beautiful  sea-birds,  tell  me, 
Is  it  this  that  ye  would  say 

To  me,  your  fellow-pilgrim, 

In  life's  fast- closing  day  ? — 

Oh,  then  for  heart  made  ready 

For  country  of  the  blest ! 
Oh,  for  the  golden  pinions, 

To  flee,  and  be  at  rest. 


November,  1868. 


189 


ADVENT. 

"  The  Lord  is  at  hand."— Phil.  iv.  5. 
PROVIDENTIALLY  ;    SPIRITUALLY  J    PERSONALLY. 


Yes — it  is  He  who  attends  our  way — 

Outstretching  everywhere 
In  the  starless  night,  as  in  sunniest  day, 

His  providential  care. 

Each  time  the  family  board  is  spread 
With  the  fruit  of  the  corn  and  the  vine, 

"  The  Lord  is  at  hand,"  'tis  Sis  cup  and  Sis  bread, 
And  He  biddeth  us  "  Come  and  dine  ! "  * 

When  weary  hours  are  faint  with  toil, 

The  temples  with  care  opprest ; 
Again  His  compassion  is  heard  :  "  Awhile, 

Come  ye  apart  and  rest ! "  f 

If  the  clouds  of  affliction  gather  low, 

And  our  spirit  be  lone  and  dark, 
He  circles  the  cloud  with  His  peaceful  bow, 


But  a  world  has  died — yet  a  world  may  revive  ! 

Such  are  the  angels'  strains ; 
"  The  Lord  is  at  hand  !  " — "  Believe  and  live !  " 

Their  hymn  on  Bethlehem's  plains."  § 

*  John  xxi.  12.         t  Mark  vi.|31.  %  Gen.  vii.  1.         \  Luke^ii.  10-15. 


190 


And  who  art  thou,  mourner  ?  sin-stricken,  sad, 

Groaning  in  heart  for  release  ? 
Thy  Lord  is  "at  hand ;  "  He  speaks,  be  glad  ! 

"  Come !  that  I  give  thee  peace."  * 

But,  oh !  He's  "  at  hand  "  in  a  brighter  reign, 

Than  in  visions  of  staff  or  rod  ; 
The  heavens  are  stooping !  the  skies  proclaim, 
"  Believer !  behold  thy  God  !  "  + 

"While  all  around  His  thunders  roll, 
With  their  seven  times  echoing  voice  ;  % 

And  His  lightnings  flash  from  either  pole, 
He  is  calling  His  saints  to  rejoice. 

"  Come  !  Mine  elect,  in  thy  chambers  hide 

From  the  fiery  tempest  blast ; 
For  a  little  moment  there  abide, 

Till  judgment  be  overpast."  § 

Now  rise  and  wake,  to  thy  joyous  birth, 

The  rain  is  over  and  gone !  || 
The  flowers  appear  on  the  springing  earth, 
The  pomegranate's  buds  are  bursting  forth, 

Thy  summer  is  hasting  on. 

The  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  our  land, 

'Tis  the  breaking  of  heavenly  day ; 
Earth's  shadows  have  fled  !  Thy  Lord  is  "  at  hand," 
Take  the  wings  of  the  dove,  and  mount,  and  stand, — 
"  In  the  clefts  of  His  Rock !  'Tis  His  own  command. 

"  Arise,  and  come  away !  " 

■  Matt.  xi.  28.  +Isa.  xxv.  9.  i  Rev.  x.  3.  ;  Matt.  xxiv.  27. 

5  lea.  xxvi.  20.  ||  Cant.  ii.  11-14. 


191 
THE  SUNDAY  AFTEE  ASCENSION  DAY. 


Acts  i.  12-14. 


From  Olivet  their  steps  they  turn'd, 
The  waiting  days  t'  employ, 

Within  the  holy  city's  walls, 
In  prayer,  in  trust,  in  joy. 

In  joy,  that  He  whom  they  had  lov'd 
Had  triumph' d  o'er  the  grave ; 

And  in  th'  Ascension  cloud  had  prov'd, 
His  power  the  Church  to  save. 

In  prayer,  that  life  nor  death  might  stay 
Their  fellowship  and  zeal ; 

Each  day  with  them  a  Sabbath  day, 
A  Sacrament  each  meal. 

In  trust,  that  at  the  promised  hour, 

The  pentecostal  flame 
Alighting,  they  with  tongues  of  power 

His  glory  might  proclaim. 

And  now,  0  Lord  !  what  wait  we  for  ? 

Our  eyes  are  unto  thee ; 
On  us,  on  us,  Thy  Spirit  pour, 

Our  hearts  Thy  temple  be. 

We  pray,  ice  trust,  like  them  of  old, 

Do  not  our  hope  destroy ; 
Spirit  of  Love,  Thy  gifts  unfold, 

And  fill  us  too  with  joy. 


192 


THE  EPISTLE  FOR  ALL  SAINTS'   DAY. 

Rev.  vii. 


Thrice  fa vour' d  seer  !  in  thy  lone  desert  isle, 
More  honour' d  than  the  man  who  sent  thee  there, 
Though  on  his  head  shone  Rome's  imperial  crown  ; 
He  shut  the  world's  gates  on  thee,  hut  thy  Lord 
Open'd  a  door  in  heaven,  whence  the  rays 
Of  light  and  glory  down  upon  thee  stream' d. 

Thou  saw'st  the  great  white  throne,  Himself  thereon, 
Girt  with  the  covenant  bow,  but  emerald  green, 
All  fiery  hues  withdrawn  for  that  of  peace  ; 
There,  too,  the  harpers  harping  with  their  harps  ; 
Twelve  times  twelve  thousand  of  the  sealed  ones, 
And  then  a  multitude  no  numbering  could  count, 
From  every  nation,  clad  in  snow  white  robes, 
Palms  in  their  hands,  tokens  of  victory. 

"We  marvel  not  at  thy  enquiry — Who  are  these  ? 
And  whence  came  they  ?— but  at  the  reply, 
So  sweet  to  one  in  trouble  like  thyself ; 
From  tribulation  great  they  came,  their  lot  on  earth 
Suffering  and  sorrow  in  all  varying  forms : 


193 


One  from  the  lion's  den,  three  from  the  flames 

Of  burning  fiery  furnace ;  after  them — 

One  from  the  headsman's  axe,  in  prison  slain  ; 

Others  from  dens  and  caves,  their  hiding  place 

From  persecutors'  fury,  there  compell'd 

To  starve  and  die  ;  some  from  the  lonely  vale, 

Where  their  bleach'd  bones  had  lain  since  bitter  hate 

Of  their  pure  faith  had  cast  them  from  the  rocks, 

And  none  to  bury  them.    All  shades  of  grief, 

In  measure  differing,  but  in  kind  the  same. 

But,  lo !  the  blessed  change  !    All  broken  hearts 
Heal'd  by  the  hand  of  Him  for  whose  dear  name 
They  bore  the  cross,  and  counted  joy  the  shame. 
Gently  He  leads  them  to  the  river's  fount, 
No  more  to  hunger,  and  no  more  to  thirst; 
"Wiping  all  tears  from  every  weeping  eye; 
Their  snow  white  robes  His  gift  to  make  them  guests 
At  His  own  table,  to  go  no  more  out. 

O !  Christian  mourners,  raise  your  thoughts  on  high, 
Foretaste  these  glories,  patient  bear  the  yoke, 
Content  to  suffer  now  to  reach  such  joys, 
For  such  the  honours  that  have  all  His  saints. 


194 


ON  JESUS'   WORD,    «I  WILL." 


How  sweet  the  Saviour's  voice  to  hear 
In  all  life's  sorrowing  way ; 

Touching  each  grief,  and  care,  and  fear, 
"With  light  in  darkest  day. 

If  sickness  waste  the  wearied  frame, 
Pains  that  the  strongest  feel ; 

He  can,  as  when  on  earth  He  came, 
Say  "  I  will  come  and  heal." 

When  deep  contrition  mourns  the  guilt 

Of  long  lamented  sin, 
He  meets  the  trembling,  "  If  thou  wilt," 

"I will,"  and  "  Be  thou  clean." 

Whatever  burden  it  may  be  • 
Borne  on  the  aching  breast, 

Sinner,  or  sufferer,  "  Come  to  Me, 
"  And  IwUl  give  you  rest." 

And  when  we  pass  death's  gloomy  sea, 
His  voice  dispels  our  fear  ; 

"  Father,  I  will,  they  be  with  Me, 
"  To  see  my  glory  here." 


195 
THE    STKAT    SHEEP 

RETX7ENING   TO   THE  FOLD. 


Oh  !  such  a  beautiful  dreaming 
Came  to  me  yesternight ! 

Even  now  my  humble  chamber 
Is  shining  with  its  light. 

There  stood  a  blessed  Being 
At  the  footside  of  my  bed  : 

Oh !  could  I  always  see  Him, 
And  think  of  all  He  said. 

At  first  He  seem'd  an  angel, 
Only  He  had  not  wings, 

Nor  the  robe  of  snowy  whiteness, 
Such  as  an  angel  brings. 

He  look'd  more  like  our  nature, 

And  He  wore  a  shepherd's  cloak 

A  lamb  was  on  His  shoulder, 
And  in  His  hand  a  crook. 


196 

And  as  I  gaz'd  yet  closer, 

I  saw  at  His  feet  below, 
A  few  sheep  bent  on  following 

Where'er  Himself  would  go. 

Then  He  cast  such  looks  of  pity 

On  me,  unworthy  me  ! 
I  felt,  were  all  forsaking, 

With  Him  it  would  not  be. 

From  the  folds  of  His  shepherd  garment, 

While  I  beheld,  He  took, 
And  gave  me,  with  gentle  motion, 

A  little  open  Book. 

But  I  saw,  as  His  robe  unfolded, 

A  wound  was  in  His  side ; 
And  in  His  hand  a  nail-print, 

Like  His  who  was  crucified. 

And  I  thought  'twas  that  same  Shepherd 
Who  "  gave  His  life  for  the  sheep," 

Lest  they  in  sin  should  slumber, 
And  end  in  death  their  sleep. 

Then  I  saw  this  solemn  writing 

On  the  Book  He  gave  to  me  :~ 

"  Thy  life  that  was!  — that  now  is!" 
"And  thy  life  as  it  may  he!" 


197 

Oh !  with  what  eager  feelings 

I  set  myself  to  read ; 
Though  every  leaf  and  sentence 

Made  my  sad  heart  to  bleed. 

For  there  I  saw  the  picture 
Of  my  early  village  home  ; 

"With  father,  and  with  mother — 
Oh  !  how  the  tears  will  come. 

How,  out-of-doors,  my  father, 
And  in-doors,  mother  toil'd, 

For  brothers  and  for  sisters, 

And  for  me,  then  happy  child ! 

And  how  on  the  blessed  Sundays, 
At  sound  of  village  chimes, 

To  the  church  all  went  together— 
Oh  !  to  call  back  those  times. 

It  made  me  well  remember, 

Upon  the  holy  day, 
There,  by  the  knees  of  mother, 

I  first  learn' d  how  to  pray. 

Then  in  the  week  how  proudly 

I  took  my  little  share 
Of  the  work  within  the  cottage — 

The  work  without  the  care. 


198 

And  we  got  a  little  learning, 
For  it  was  mother's  rule, 

We  all  in  turns  were  enter' d 
In  our  good  parson's  school. 

"When  school  and  work  were  over — 
Then  all  of  us  were  seen, 

Joyous  and  swift  as  swallows, 
In  sports  on  village  green. 

At  length  I  went  to  service — 
Ah !  then  my  snares  began, 

Among  such  giddy  maidens, 
And  many  an  idle  man : 

Such  loose  and  wicked  talking ! 

And  so  much  spent  in  dress ; 
No  love  at  all  for  Sunday, 

Till  mine  at  last  grew  less. 

I  trusted  one — not  others — 

But  he  prov'd  false  as  they  ; 

He  pluck' d  the  fruit  forbidden, 
Then  threw  the  branch  away. 

I  need  not  tell  the  Shepherd 

How  His  poor  sheep  has  stray' d ; 

He  knew  it  all,  and  shew'd  me 
This  picture  He  had  made. 


199 

I  scarce  can  think,  for  crying : 

Oh  dear !  when  I  compare 
My  "  life  that  was,"  and  "  now  is," 

I  feel  almost  despair. 

So  I  had  not  any  courage 

To  read  more  of  the  Book : 

The  past  was  gone ;  and  the  present 
Had  such  a  dreadful  look. 

Much  as  I  long'd  to  listen 

Of  my  "  life  as  it  may  "be," 

I  could  not  turn  the  leaflets, 

My  tears  fiow'd  down  so  free. 

Just  then  the  loving  Shepherd, 

Who  still  kept  by  my  side, 
Told  me  He  knew  my  burden, 

And  for  me  He  had  died : 

And  He  smooth' d  my  aching  forehead, 

Parting  the  tangled  hair, 
As  if  He  sought  for  something 

That  might  be  still  trac'd  there. 

And  He  found  His  mark  which  sign'd  me 

On  my  baptismal  day ; 
And  though  'twas  blurr'd,  He  claim'd  me 

As  His,  no  more  to  stray. 


200 

And  He  led  me  to  a  fountain, 

Open'd  express  for  sin, 
Where  all  defilements  cleansed 

From  those  who  wash  therein. 

And  He  promis'd  me  forgiveness, 

If  I  on  Him  relied ; 
For  the  stream  that  fill'd  that  fountain 

Flow'd  from  His  own  dear  side. 

Then  He  show'd  me  sweetest  meadows, 
Wherein  He  fed  His  flock ; 

And,  for  temptation's  scorching, 
The  shadow  of  a  Rock. 

And  while  my  heart  was  melting 
With  all  this  tender  love, 

He  warned  me  to  be  watchful, 
Lest  I  again  should  rove. 

For  love  of  the  Heavenly  Father, 
For  love  of  Him,  His  Son  ; 

For  love  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 

Henceforth  these  vices  shun. 

Then,  friends  will  not  forsake  thee, 
Though  they  thy  past  deplore  ; 
"  Neither  will  I  condemn  thee, 

But   GO,  AND    SIN -NO    MORE." 


201 


TO  A  FEIEND, 
ON   HER   BOOK   OF   DIALS. 


In  these  bright  days  of  science,  when  our  times 
"We  mark  by  clocks,  chronometers,  and  chimes, 
Our  fathers'  antique  dials  are  well  nigh 
Neglected  and  forgot,  as  things  gone  by. 
The  slab  of  stone  fix' d  in  the  church's  wall, 
Whose  iron  finger  made  a  shadow  fall, 
In  hours  of  sunlight,  on  its  figured  face, 
"With  holy  motto  suited  to  the  place  ; 
Or  dial,  stuccoed  o'er  the  council  door, 
"Where  the  grave  elders  of  the  town,  of  yore, 
Met  to  deliberate,  or  the  Templars'  Inn 
Of  Court,  or  College  quadrangle  within, 
Or  graceful  column  of  the  sculptur'd  stone, 
"With  plate  of  bronze  for  sun  to  shine  upon, 
Wherewith  the  Great  delighted  to  adorn 
Their  carriage  entrance,  or  their  garden  lawn  : 
All,  all,  were  falling  to  decaying  fate, 
Their  goodly  maxims  nigh  obliterate  ; 
When  thou  hast  haply  brought  again  to  view, 
These  time  revealers  in  a  form  so  new, 


202 


Refresh' d  their  fronts  that  never  more  they  fail 

To  all  who  ask,  to  tell  their  truthful  tale, 

Eestor'd  in  various  tongues— the  goodly  words, 

The  stony  tablet,  or  the  brass  records, 

Recalled  with  skilful  pencil  in  his  prime, 

The  honour' d  figure  of  old  father  Time — 

His  scythe,  his  hour-glass,  and  his  lock  of  hair, 

In  front,  not  back,  for  none  can  hold  him  there. 

Warm  are  our  thanks,  for  great  has  been  our  pleasure, 

To  see  so  gracefully  employ' d — thy  leisure. 

But  if  thy  dials  tell  us,  after  all, 
We  are  but  shadows  on  life's  sunny  wall ; 
They  not  less  point  us,  with  a  hope  as  bright, 
To  that  good  land  above,  where  all  is  light. 


203 


TO  THE  AUTHOKESS   OF  THE   OEESTAOEA. 


Did  ever  eye  that  roves,  or  rests 

On  curious  things,  light  on  such  crests 

As  in  this  casque  it  may  ? 
Crests  high  and  haughty,  crests  fall'n  low, 
Crests  arrow  like,  or  like  a  how, 

In  multitudinous  array. 

Crests  of  the  eagle,  and  the  dove, 
Crests  from  the  turret,  or  the  grove, 

The  fleet,  the  camp,  the  trees  : 
Crests  of  the  lion,  and  the  lamb, 
Of  real  nobility,  or  sham, 

Of  hives,  and  honey  bees. 

But  prettiest  of  all  pretty  things, 
Crests  that  have  settled  down  on  wings 

Of  colour' d  butterflies ! 
Alas !  the  weight  of  honour  borne 
Compels  the  flutterers  to  mourn, 

They  ne'er  again  can  rise. 

This  truth  that  beauteous  one  is  talking, 
To  all  earth's  worms,  or  wing'd,  or  walking, 

Ne'er  wish  for  what  is  not : 
Your  portion'd  state  is  surely  best, 
If  with,  or  if  without,  a  crest 

Content  ye  with  your  lot. 


204 


THE  TWO  DAYS  AT  LUGANO, 

OCTOBER  5th  and  Cth,  1869. 

"When,  \nth  my  dear  grand-daughters,  in  an  excursion  on  the  Lake,  a  visit 
was  paid  to  "  The  Potter's  House,"  and  to  the  cottagers  threshing  flax. 


Are  there  not  times  when  days  are  bright, 
E'en  cloudless  in  our  chequer' d  scene, 

And  nights  wherein  the  soft  starlight 
Shines  clearer  in  the  blue  serene  ? 

Such  days  and  nights  have  now  been  our's, 
Our  pleasures  on  Lugano's  lake  ; 

And  though  so  quickly  fled  the  hours, 
Their  memory  will  oft  awake 

How/<r«V  the  graceful  vases  brought, 
When  to  the  potter's  we  had  gone  ; 

His  moulding  hands  how  well  they  wrought ; 
Fairer  the  forms  that  looked  thereon. 

Smooth  came  the  flax  from  off  its  stalk  ; 

The  cottagers  were  threshing  there, 
Content  with  their  machine  to  work ; — 

More  soft  the  gazing  maidens'  hair. 

Sweet  were  the  sounds  the  plashing  oar 
Struck  on  the  surface  of  the  stream  ;— 

More  sweet  the  voices  to  the  shore, 

Of  the  dear  maidens'  Evening  Hymn. 

Know  aged  hearts  a  purer  joy, 

Than  social  gatherings  like  this  ? 

With  children's  children ;  no  alloy 
Of  sin  to  taint  its  peaceful  bliss. 


205 


THE  STORM: 

AFTER  DAVID   AND   EMILY   HAD   LEFT   US. 
LAKE    COMO. 


Oh  !  such  a  gloomy  morrow, 

Succeeded  your  depart ; 
The  clouds  poured  down  their  sorrow, 

As  from  a  weeping  heart. 

Winds  sweeping  o'er  the  waters, 

Awoke  a  doleful  din  ; 
Nature  without  all  dreary, 

While  all  were  sad  within. 

The  beauteous  aisles  of  plane-trees, 
Eef  us'd  their  lov'd  relief ; 

Their  branches  wet  with  rain  drops, 
Dript,  dript,  continual  grief. 

With  thanks  of  joy  we  welcom'd 
Our  host's  considerate  care, 

For  cold  and  rain  commanding 
Bright  fires  to  prepare. 


206 

Bundles  of  sticks  were  gather' d, 
And  stoves  so  long  disus'd, 

With  cheerful  flames  enkindling, 
A  genial  warmth  diffus'd. 

"We  thought  of  lov'd  ones  travelling 
By  water  and  by  land ; 

And  breath' d  the  Church's  litany, 
For  the  "  preserving  "  hand. 

Still,  still,  the  storm  was  raging, 
And  every  window  pane 

Like  pallid  cheeks  of  mourners, 
Streamed  down  in  tears  of  rain. 

The  tufted  dark  acacias, 

Stood  mutes  at  our  "  Belle  Vue,' 
And  e'en  the  sturdy  mountains 

Put  on  a  mourning  hue. 

Their  gold  tints  chang'd  to  silver, 
Their  roseate  to  snow ; 

The  aspect  of  their  ranges, 

Yourself  would  scarcely  know. 

But  when  their  winter  mantle 
Had  chilled  my  aching  sight, 

Your  picture  call'd  back  summer, 
And  "eventide  was  light." 

Cadenabbia,  October  10th  and  20th,  1869. 


207 


TO    MY    DEAR    SON-IN-LAW 

(the  rev.  canon  venables), 

ON    OUR    ATTENDING    THE     SOLEMN    SERVICE    IN 

MILAN  CATHEDRAL. 

COMMEMORATION  OF   SAN   CARLO   BORROMEO. 


Three  times,  dear  son  and  brother, 
While  years  have  roll'd  away, 

Have  we  in  glorious  temples, 
Together  met  to  pray. 

Each  grand  in  its  own  glory, 

Paul's  high  o'ershadowing  dome, 

Then,  Lincoln's  towering  minster, 
Now,  Milan's  marble  tomb. 

"Worthy  all  three  occasions 

For  Time  to  set  his  mark ;        ♦ 

England's  great  warrior's  burial ;  * 
Then  Judge's  solemn  work,  t 

First  in  the  vault  to  Nelson 

We  saw  the  ducal  crown, 
The  hero's  plumed  glories 

Descending  slowly  down. 

*  Funeral  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  +  The  Assize  Sermon . 


208 

Next,  scann'd  with  anxious  feeling, 
The  steps  of  him  whose  breath, 

Might  soon  pronounce  a  sentence 
Of  liberty  or  death. 

But  now,  a  softer  memory 

Is  celebrating  here, 
Good  Borromeo's  life  deeds 

Of  love,  a  golden  sphere. 

Art  mingled  with  devotion, 
Told  how  He  oft  became 

Eyes  to  the  blind  in  darkness, 
And  feet  unto  the  lame. 

Health  to  the  sick  and  plague  struck, 

Unto  the  hungry  food  ; 
Unnumber'd  blessings  scattering, 

In  every  form  of  good. 

We  may  not  be  the  warrior, 
Nor  rise  to  Judge's  seat ; 

But  we  may  strive  to  follow 
A  Christian's  saintly  feet. 

If  by  his  spirit  guided, 

We  tread  where  he  hath  trod, 
On  earth  we  shall  be  honour' d, 

In  Heaven  dwell  with  God. 


November  4,  1869. 


209 


ITALY'S    FORGE; 


Uxcover'd  his  head, 

And  bare  his  arms, 
As  early  as  morning  came, 

The  smith  on  his  anvil 

The  metal  struck, 
And  work'd  his  steel  in  the  flame. 

Of  his  toil  he  speaks — 

"  My  life  seems  hard, 
But  'tis  joy  to  the  working  man ; 

As  I  work  along 

I  am  waxing  strong, 

And  the  drops  of  sweat 

In  my  hair  that  set 

Adorn  my  curls 

Like  so  many  pearls, 
As  the  crown  of  the  artisan. 

"  The  strokes  of  the  hammer,  how  they  rebound ! 
And  oh,  how  musical  is  their  sound  ! 
Italy,  Italy  !  flourish  and  live, 
A  nd  to  life  of  labour  its  plenty  give ! 
p 


210 


"  The  wealth  of  idlers 
They  cannot  enjoy ; 
Soon,  very  soon,  their  riches  cloy — 

That's  no  attraction  for  me ; 
For  I've  a  cheerful  temper  of  mind, 
And  on  earth,  I  believe,  that  men  can  find 
No  greater  joy 
Than  my  employ ; 
For  whenever  my  earnings  turn  up  good, 
Enough  for  my  own  and  my  children's  food, 
The  Sultan  of  Turkey,  in  my  view, 
Has  none  so  grand  his  kingdom  through 

As  myself  with  my  beautiful  forge ; 
When  I  get  it  up, 

"With  its  flame  below  and  smoke  atop- 
My  beautiful  forge ! 
The  strokes  of  my  hammer,  how  they  rebound  ! 
And  oh,  how  musical  is  their  sound  ! 

"  Every  art  is  debtor  to  mine  : 
I  help  'em  all  to  work  and  shine  ; 
And  the  greater  the  help  to  others  I  give, 
The  more  I'm  pleased,  and  the  better  I  live. 

I  love  peace !  I  do  by  far, 

A  deal  far  better  than  ugly  war, 

Which  talks  about  our  being  free, 

And  promises  loud  of  liberty  ; 

But  stretches  out  its  greedy  hands, 

And  binds  on  us  many  more  iron  bands. 


211 

So  I  work  for  peace  :    I  make  the  plough 
That  opens  the  earth  for  seed  to  grow  ; 
And  I  turn  the  sickle  that  cuts  the  wheat 
And  gives  the  people  the  bread  they  eat. 
The  strokes  of  my  hammer,  &c. 

But  if  an  enemy  treads  on  our  land, 

Oh !  then  I  know, 

To  meet  the  foe. 
There  are  other  things  this  sinewy  hand 

Can  fashion  and  forge  ; 

And  soon,  and  soon  it  would — 
The  sword,  the  rifle,  the  dagger  of  steel, 
Sharp  and  keen  for  the  foe  to  feel 

When  moisten' d  in  his  blood. 
The  strokes  of  my  hammer  will  still  resound, 
But  solemn  and  deadly  will  echo  round. 

"  At  the  very  first  cry 

That  calls  to  war 

'Twould  be  seen  that  I 
Can  start  from  a  workman,  simple  and  plain, 
A  warrior,  fierce  and  bold  in  grain. 

I  have  an  arm 

That's  tough  and  strong  ; 

And  a  heart  to  which 
Courage  and  love  of  country  belong ; 

And  the  strangers  that  dare 

Call  us  to  war 

Shall  soon  be  taught 


212 

That  the  weapons  we've  wrought 
In  Italy's  forge 
To  death  will  urge, 
And  the  foes  be  then  in  their  ambush  caught. 

CHORUS. 

"  The  strokes  of  the  hammer,  how  they  rebound  ! 
And  oh,  how  musical  is  their  sound ! 
Italy,  Italy  !  flourish  and  live, 
And  to  life  of  labour  its  plenty  give  ! " 


213 


GENOA: 

ITS    SHIPBUILDERS, 


Here  in  this  land  of  hardy  mariners, 
The  navigators  of  the  older  world, 
And  one  of  them  discoverer  of  the  new, 
The  ancient  craft  continues — ships  still  built 
On  all  the  shores— and  'tis  a  goodly  sight 
Oft  here  presented  in  the  vessel's  launch ; 
Not  as  in  other  lands,  alone  the  hull 
Heavy  and  dark,  hut  the  gay  vessel  rigg'd 
With  all  her  masts,  and  tackling  full  equipt, 
And  her  hright  banners  floating  in  the  wind. 

Does  it  not  touch  the  heart,  when  in  the  midst 
Of  gazing  multitudes,  the  sunny  bay 
Circled  by  mountains,  villas,  woods,  and  palaces 
White  as  a  belt  of  pearls  along  its  shores ; 
Their  campanile  church  towers  chiming  soft, 
The  vessel  waits,  but  eager  to  be  free  ? 
All  eyes  upon  her ;  when  the  word  is  given, 
The  few  last  cords  that  held  her  to  the  strand 
Are  loosen' d,  and  on  well  smooth' d  lines, 


214 


She  softly,  grandly,  glides  into  the  sea ; 
At  the  last  moment  spurning  off  the  frame 
That,  like  our  early  childhood's  first  supports, 
Maintain' d  her  upright  and  preserv'd  her  course  ; 
Then,  glad  in  her  new  powers,  plunging  straight 
Upon  the  waters,  as  her  own  domain. 

Blest  emblem  of  the  Christian !  though  himself 
No  worthier  than  the  iron,  or  the  wood 
Of  that  ship's  structure,  by  Another's  skill 
Fram'd  and  adorn' d,  and  suitably  prepar'd 
To  leave  the  earth,  and  pass  away  to  heaven. 

But  all  are  not  such  launches  :  we  have  seen 
One  noble  ship,  in  bearing  like  the  rest, 
At  the  last  loosening  falter  in  its  course, 
And  on  the  shore  in  midway  sudden  stop. 
Then,  when  appliances  and  efforts  mov'd 
Impediments,  again  at  brink  of  sea 
Its  course  arrested,  as  itself  afraid 
To  tempt  the  waters  ;  though  at  last  it  gave 
Assent  to  its  wrong' d  owner,  and  took  place 
Upon  its  destin'd  element  with  grace. 

One  other  beauteous  vessel  left  the  shore 
In  semblance  perfect,  but  at  touch  of  wave, 
Some  fracture  in  its  lowermost  supports 
Gave  gentle  deviation,  which  increased 
With  the  momentum  of  advancing  force  ; 
A  gracile  but  a  fatal  curve  it  turn'd, 
And  lay  it  down  beneath  the  waves  a  wreck. 


215 

May  no  such  disappointment  sadly  mark, 
Our  passing  from  the  shores  of  time  away  ; 
No  low  undue  attachment  to  the  world, 
That  would  arrest  our  progress  heavenward  ; 
No  lingering,  like  the  rescued  of  the  plain, 
Requiring  angels'  hands  to  urge  them  home. 

Still  less,  a  final  failure  on  the  brink 

Of  the  blest  haven,  such  as  Pilgrim  saw 

In  his  grand  dream  ;  when  some  before  the  walls 

Of  the  golden  city  turned,  and  he  exclaim' d — 

"  I  see  there  is  a  path  that  leads  to  hell 

Even  from  the  gates  of  heaven." 


216 


THE  EIVIEEA, 


Oh,  how  I  love  fair  Italy !  thy  land, 

Along  thy  coast  fresh  beauties  still  awake  ; 

Mirror' d  are  objects  seen  on  either  hand, 
Calm  image  of  the  Galilean  lake. 

There  are  thy  hills  with  olives  cover' d  o'er, 

And  there  thy  waving  palms  the  winds  unfold ; 

Bright  towns  and  villages  gird  all  thy  shore, 
Such  as  thy  ten,  Decapolis,  of  old. 

There  on  thy  waters  are  the  fishers'  boats ; 

Upon  thy  beach  the  nets  are  spread  to  dry  ; 
While  on  thy  waves  one  owner  idly  floats, 

The  rest  are  basking  'neath  thy  sunny  sky. 

So  eastern-like  thy  landscape,  that  it  throws 
Thought  back  upon  the  sacred  story's  page, 

Events  and  scenes  whose  hallow' d  radiance  glows 
With  still  increasing  light  from  age  to  age. 

It  was  in  olive  groves  like  these,  that  He 
Who  lov'd  us,  after  weary  days,  alone 

Pass'd  His  long  nights  in  prayer,  while  all  but  He 
Sought  their  repose  in  homesteads  of  their  own. 


217 

It  was  from  graceful  feathery  palms  like  these 

The  multitudes  the  branches  tore  away, 
To  strew  His  path  as  on  the  passing  "breeze, 

Hosannas  chim'd  His  short  triumphal  day. 

It  was  in  villages  like  these  He  went, 

Preaching  His  Father's  love  to  sinful  men  ; 

Healing,  forgiving,  blessing,  until  spent 
His  life ;  then  promising  to  come  again. 

They,  too,  were  humble  fishermen  like  these, 

He  call'd  and  fitted  for  their  wondrous  charge 

Of  carrying  through  the  world  His  words  of  peace, 
His  "  little  flock  "  by  thousands  to  enlarge. 

And  on  a  mountain  like  to  these  He  stood, 

From  midst  that  flock  to  take  His  heavenward  flight ; 

While  they  in  love  and  adoration  view'd 

The  ascension  cloud  concealing  Him  from  sight. 

Can  I  but  love  then,  Italy !  thy  shore, 

Where  not  Creation's  beauties  shine  alone, 

But  every  object  calls  me  to  adore 

The  Christ  that  made  us  both,  and  claims  us  as  His  own. 

Note.— "  On  the  Galilean  bank  the  bright  little  towns  and  villages  crowded 
upon  each  other  as,  in  our  own  day,  villas  and  hamlets  sparkle  around  the 
shores  of  Como  and  Geneva.  On  every  patch  of  loam,  in  every  rift  of  rock, 
on  every  gentle  knoll,  spring  a  cluster  of  stone  sheds,  the  houses  of  reapers 
and  fishermen,  each  hamlet  having  its  bit  of  uneven  corn  field,  its  narrow 
ledge  of  vines,  and  its  tiny  beach  of  sand. 

"  Every  two  or  three  miles  along  the  beach  lay  one  of  these  sparkling 
towns :  here  Magdala,  the  abode  of  that  Mary  who  has  lent  her  name  to 
repenting  women  of  all  nations  ;  there,  Capernaum,  the  home  of  the  noble 
Jew,  whose  son  was  saved  from  death ;  yonder,  Chorazin,  the  scene  of 
unwritten*[histories ;  and  here,  Bethsaida  (a  fishing  place,  as  its  name 
implies),  the  River  Town  from  which  Jona's  sons  removed  to  a  new 
home."— W.  H.Dixon's  "  Holy  Land,"  Vol.  II.  ch.  ix.p.  27. 


218 


CAEOLINE'S  WOEDS,  IN  EDMUND'S  LETTEE, 

AFTER   THE   AFFLICTION   AT  VENICE. 

"The  silence  and  mysteriousness  of  the  other  world  exercise  her  faith 
very  much,  and  she  longs  to  follow  her  darling,  to  know  where  she  will  he, 
and  how  to  think  of  her." 


Yes— it  is  silence  all ! 

Mysteriously  still — 
We  strain  the  ear— no  voices  fall 

From  off  that  holy  hill. 

No  voices  that  the  ear 

Can  catch ;  in  solemn  dread 
"We  meekly  bow  the  heart,  and  fear 

Beneath  that  hill  to  tread. 

'Tis  like  the  still  dark  night- 
No  speech,  no  language  there  ; 

Yet,  countless  gems  of  light 

Are  sparkling  in  that  sphere. 

Those  stars,  those  planets,  all, 
Though  silently  they  move, 

Among  themselves  let  fall 

Sweet  whispers  of  God's  love. 


219 

Not  to  the  ear  they  speak, 

Yet  reach  the  heart  from  far  ; 

They  make  His  voice  the  silence  break, 
In  heaven  of  heavens  the  Star. 

To  the  wounded,  wondering  heart, 
The  tones  of  that  sweet  voice, 

Healing  and  peace  impart, 
And  make  the  sad  rejoice. 

On  earth  with  shepherd's  care 
Lambs  to  His  arm  He  took ; 

His  better  fold  is  there  ; 

'Tis  upward  we  must  look. 

There  is  thy  darling  now, 

Freed  from  the  fleshly  strife  ; 

No  fever' d  thirst,  no  aching  brow, 
Calm  at  the  stream  of  Life. 

A  little  way  the  veil 

Is  lift,  that  we  no  more, 
Doubt  if  that  tiny  sail 

Has  safely  reach' d  the  shore. 

That  constellation  bright,* 

The  navigator's  sign, 
Is  said  to  increase  its  light, 

With  added  stars  to  shine. 

*  The  Pleiades. 


220 

Few  of  them  stand  alone, 

In  clustering  groups  they  shine, 
Like  "  gather' d  one  by  one," 

Households  in  light  divine. 

Thus  has  our  lov'd  one  now 

Join'd  the  blest  band  above ; 

A  short  while  lov'd  by  us  below, 
For  ever  lov'd  above. 

Then  lift  thy  sorrowing  heart, 
Follow  her  pathway  bright ; 

And  thou  shalt  have  thy  joyous  part 
Among  those  stars  of  light. 


May,  1870. 


221 


ON  JEREMIAH    I.    11-12, 


1 '  The  word  of  the  Lord  came  unto  me,  saying,  Jeremiah,  what  seest  thou  ? 
And  I  said,  I  see  a  rod  of  an  almond-tree. 

"  Then  said  the  Lord  unto  me,  Thou  hast  well  seen  :  for  I  will  hasten  my 
word  to  perform  it."  * 


The  almond-tree,  of  Spring  the  token, 
Hastens  with  bloom  its  branch  to  fill  : 

Thus,  the  Lord's  words  by  prophets  spoken, 
Hasten  to  work  His  holy  will. 

And  thus  we  soothe  the  bitter  grieving, 
"When  ourbelov'd  ones  early  die; 

Their  early  death,  while  us  bereaving, 
But  hastens  them  to  bloom  on  high. 


•  Apparently  there  is  no  connection  between  the  answer  of  the  prophet 
and  the  commendation  bestowed  upon  it.  But  a  reference  to  the  original 
text  makes  it  plain.  The  Hebrew  word  "shaked"  is  used  in  both.  It 
signifies  the  almond-tree,  so  called  because  it  hastens  to  bloom  before  all 
other  trees.  Pliny  in  his  Natural  History  so  describes  it ;  and  Parkhurst 
in  his  Lexicon  adds,  "The  almond-tree  first,  before  all  others,  waketh 
and  riseth  from  its  winter  repose."    "  Prima  inter  arbores  evigilat." 


222 


THE  VISITS  TO   C  AN  TEEB  UEY, 

1830  and  1871. 


Forty-and-one  revolving  years  have  fled, 
Our  joint  lives'  chequer'd  hist'ry  to  reveal, 
Since  to  this  great  Cathedral  city  led, 
"We  shar'd  together  our  first  mid-day  meal. 

Young  then  and  buoyant,  newly  clasp' d  our  hands, 
"We  launched  our  humble  bark  with  tiny  sail, 
On  a  first  "pilgrimage"  to  foreign  lands, 
Beginning  then  our  "  Canterbury  Tale." 

Priceless  the  gifts  of  God  in  our  long  day, 

Home  blessings  chief— lov'd  sons  and  daughters  seven; 

Six  now  dispers'd  to  tread  life's  varied  way, 

While  "one  is  not" — not  here,  but  rais'd  to  hcav'n. 

And  now  once  more,  by  chances  undesign'd, 
To  this  same  city  are  our  footsteps  brought ; 
Again,  alone  together,  would  we  find 
His  holy  will,  who  all  these  changes  wrought. 

He  tells  us,  life  is  hastening  to  its  close  ; 
Our  work  defective — yet  He  bids  us  come 
Away  from  all  earth's  wanderings  and  its  woes  ; 
Not  to  the  children's,  but  the  "  Father's  "  home. 


223 

THE  INSCRIPTION: 
"HOLINESS    UNTO    THE    LOKD," 

OS    THE 

ENTRANCE  TO  THE  GRAVEYARD  OF  ST.  MARTIN'S  CHURCH, 

NEAR   CANTERBURY, 

WHERE   DEAN   ALEORD    WAS   BURIED. 


Wb  needed  not  that  solemn  word 

On  the  Lich  Gate ;  from  all  around 

Jn  mingled  tones  were  voices  heard 
Proclaiming  it  as  holy  ground. 

The  ancient  church's  ivied  tower, 
The  venerable  yew-tree's  shade  ; 

The  chiming  bells  which  toll'd  the  hour 
As  come,  when  village  prayer  is  made. 

"  God's  acre,"  where  the  seeds  are  sown, 
To  ripen  in  the  gathering  day ; 

Some  hid  by  monumental  stone, 

Some,  brighter,  by  the  turf-bound  clay. 

Beneath  that  grass  mound  rests  his  head, 
In  view  of  his  own  Minster's  shrine ; 

"Where  oft  he  brake  the  sacred  bread, 
And  pour'd  the  consecrated  wine. 

The  grand  Cathedral's  gifted  chief, 
Deep  learned  in  all  Christian  lore ; 

Yet  softening  all  his  high  belief 
By  gentlest  pity  to  the  poor. 


224 

A  cross  of  flowers  there  is  laid 

To  warn  away  the  footstep  rude ; 
And  often  as,  like  him,  they  fade, 

By  filial  love  to  be  renewed. 

It  was  a  chosen  spot— he  lov'd 

God's  meadows,  hills,  and  open  sky  ; 

And  under  its  blue  vault  approv'd, 
More  than  in  stately  crypt,  to  lie. 

And  so  the  long  Cathedral  train 

Follow' d  with  mournful  steps  the  dead 

Up  to  this  hill,  while  in  the  plain, 

The  choir  his  own  sweet  anthem  led. 

Our  hearts  were  bow'd.     His  kindly  pen, 
In  his  last  second  week,  had  plann'd 

That  we  should  meet  him  once  again 
In  sunny  Italy's  fair  land. 

It  might  not  be— the  zealous  flame 

Long  burn'd  in  him  too  fiercely  bright ; 

His  Lord  then  touch' d  his  fever' d  frame,* 
And  rais'd  him  to  His  home  of  light. 

Oh  !  fitly,  then,  this  word  finds  place 

From  Israel's  high  priest's  mitre,  here 

Where  "  Holiness  unto  the  Lord,"  we  trace 

Upon  each  Christian  grave,  and  in  each  mourner' 
tear. 

'Marki.  30,  31, 
October  8th,  1871. 


225 


THE    INSCRIPTION   ON   THE   TOMB 

HENRY  ALFOKD,  D.D.,  DEAN  OF  CANTERBURY, 

BORN,  7  OCT.,  1810.      DIED,  12  JAN.,  1871. 

Deversorium  viatoris. 
Hierosolymam  proficiscentis. 


Lo  !  now  upon  the  sacred  ground 
The  monumental  tomb  is  plac'd, 

Brighter  with  words  than  when  the  mound 
With  choicest  flowers  was  daily  grac'd ; 

Yet  solemn  words,  although  so  bright. 

Angel  of  death  !  thy  mission  came 
One  of  earth's  fondest  schemes  to  blight, 

While  giving  it  a  holier  aim. 

He  purpos'd  in  the  Holy  land 

Those  sacred  memories  to  explore, 

With  kindred  souls,  a  chosen  band, 
To  add  unto  the  Church's  store. 

But  love  denied.     He  would  not  now 
Jerusalem's  "waste  places  "  see  ; 

"  Jerusalem  the  golden  !  "  thou 

Hast  ope'd  thy  gates  ;  he  dwells  in  thee. 

And  so  this  monumental  stone 

Tells  of  the  angel's  guiding  hand, 

Which  turn'd  the  traveller  from  his  own 
Path  to  his  Saviour's  better  land. 


226 


THE  GEEMAN  OFFICER'S  IRON  CROSS. 

WINTEB   OF    1871-2,    AT   PEGLI. 


Brave  officer !  we  thank  thee 

Allowing  us  the  sight, 
Of  this  most  peaceful  emblem 

Of  that  most  fearful  fight. 

When  nation  against  nation 
Was  rous'd  to  bloody  war, 

And  city  after  city 

Crush' d  in  discordant  jar. 

When  thou,  with  noble  courage, 
For  thy  dear  country  fought ; 

Through  its  iron  hail,  and  thunder, 
At  last  in  safety  brought. 

But  when,  although  twice  wounded, 
Returning  to  the  strife, 

The  third  time  sorely  stricken, 
Thou  wast  left  at  gasp  of  life. 


227 

Now  healing  and  reviving, 

Thy  Heavenly  Father's  care 

On  human  skill  is  granting 

Thy  earthly  mother's  prayer. 

And  so  thy  country's  Emperor 
Hath  plac'd  upon  thy  breast 

This  token  thou  wert  faithful 
Soldier,  by  all  confest. 

But  while  the  eye  rejoices 

This  Iron  Cross  to  see, 
O  will  it  not  be  telling 

Of  something  more  to  thee  ? 

Does  it  not  speak  a  conflict 

More  dread  and  deadly  still ; 

One  fought,  too,  single  handed, 
Upon  a  holy  hill  ? 

When  devils,  sin,  and  sinners, 
And  death  and  hell  beside, 

Were  all  in  league  together, 
Against  the  Crucified  ? 

And  He  Himself  the  Shepherd 
Of  His  own  straying  flock. 

Not,  like  thee,  wounded  only, 

But  pierc'd  by  His  death  stroke. 


228 

0  when  this  cross  thou  wearest, 
Thou  wilt  not  surely  cease 

To  love  the  Man  whose  sufferings 
Procur'd  with  God  thy  peace. 

But  join  the  glorious  anthem, 

From  all  blest  voices  heard—- 

"  Thanks  for  this  blessed  victory, 
Through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 


229 


FOR   THE   20th   DECEMBER,    1872, 

UNITED  PRAYEE  EOR  MISSIONS. 


Voices  sound  from  o'er  the  waters, 
Hark !  are  calling  to  us  now  ; 

Kich  lands  here  lie  waste  and  fallow, 
Brethren,  come  and  help  us  plough 

Afric,  India,  Western  Islands, 

Echo  the  entreat  to  go  ; 
Ye,  the  seeds  of  life  possessing, 

Quickly  come  and  help  us  sow.    . 

Doubt  not  that  the  dews  of  heaven, 
And  the  sunbeam's  ripening  rays, 

Will  descend  and  own  your  labours, 
And  a  glorious  harvest  raise. 

Hear  His  voice,  the  Lord  of  Harvest ; 

Lift  your  eyes,  look  on  the  fields, 
See  them  white  for  reapers'  sickles, 

Hundredfold  their  treasure  yields. 


230 

He  declares  the  harvest  plenteous, 
While  the  labourers  are  few  ; 

But  that  for  increase  of  labour, 
Earnest  prayer  from  us  is  due. 

See  then,  Lord  !  the  assembled  Churches, 
Bowing  down  as  one  this  day ; 

One  in  fervent  intercession 
Gather' d  all,  as  one,  to  pray. 

Thine  to  give  the  Holy  Spirit, 
Outpour  His  constraining  love ; 

Many  hearts  to  this  grand  Mission, 
In  unquenching  zeal  to  move. 

Through  long  toil  and  self-denial, 
Even  through  a  martyr's  grave  ; 

Their  rough  path  untir'd  pursuing, 
If  that  only  souls  they  save. 

Then  will  these  our  prayers  be  answer' d, 

Early  both  and  latter  rain ; 
Earth  enrich  with  heavenly  blessings, 

Nor  our  God  be  sought  in  vain. 


231 


TO   MY  GRAND-CHILD   MABEL 


My  dear  little  May, 

Your  mama  heard  you  say — 
I  feel  in  my  inside  so  happy  to-day  ; 
And  to  render  your  meaning  more  clearly  exprest, 
I  can  fancy  your  little  hand  plac'd  on  your  breast. 

Dear  child  !  this  quaint  word 
With  much  thought  we  have  heard, 

For  it  opens  a  very  great  truth  to  our  view  : 

We  are  all  of  us,  just  like  the  nuts  on  the  tree, 

Made  up  of  two  parts — both  mama,  you,  and  me — 

An  outside  and  inside,  as  clear  as  can  be. 

The  outside  of  a  nut  is  the  shell,  brown  and  bright ; 

The  inside  the  kernel,  so  sweet  and  so  white. 

Our  outside  the  body,  by  all  our  friends  seen  ; 

Our  inside  the  soul,  dwelling  quiet  within. 

When  we  wake  in  the  morning  and  rise  from  our  bed, 
With  no  cough,  or  face-ache,  or  pain  in  the  head, 
Then  our  outside  is  happy,  we  relish  our  food ; 
And  if  with  all  this  we  try  to  be  good, 
Then  the  inside  is  happy,  and  peaceful  as  well, 
And  both  are  in  harmony,  kernel  and  shell. 


232 


But  if  we  are  tempted  to  do  what  is  wrong, 
Our  tempers  are  cross,  and  our  passions  are  strong, 
Our  prayers,  too,  neglected  ;  how  plainly  we  see, 
To  feel  happy  inside  is  what  cannot  he. 

Then  which  of  the  two  shall  we  care  for  the  most, 
That  our  care  and  attention  be  not  labour  lost  ? 
The  outside,  which  only  sleeps,  eats,  and  drinks  ; 
Or  the  inside,  which  reasons,  remembers,  and  thinks  ? 

Oh  !  not  the  shell  which  is  thrown  on  the  floor, 
But  the  kernel  (our  soul)  which  will  live  evermore. 

Pegu,  March,  1S73. 


233 


THE  PALMA  NOBILIS  IN  THE  GARDEN  OF 
THE  HOTEL  DE  LA  MEDITERRANEE. 


Fairest  of  all  the  trees 

That  give  our  garden  charm, 
Not  ilex,  citron,  cypress,  please 

Like  thee,  thou  stately  palm ! 

Thy  tall  and  upright  stem 

Lifting  thy  head  on  high ; 
With  clustering  branches,  waving  them 

Beneath  our  bright  blue  sky. 

Thou  art  an  emblem  sure 

For  every  Christian  soul, 
To  spring  from  earth,  erect  and  pure, 

Up  towards  the  heavenly  goal. 

While  each  encircling  bough 

Symbols  some  Christian  grace  — 

"  Love,  joy,  peace,  goodness,"  marking  how 
All  should  our  life  embrace. 

Blest  Spirit !  good  and  calm, 
Come  like  the  breath  of  day, 

Which  waves  these  tresses  of  the  palm  ; 
Each  gentle  grace  in  us  display 
And  all  ungraceful  waft  away. 


234 


THE  TKANSPLANTED  PALM. 


They  tell  me,  beauteous  palm-tree,  thou  art  old, 
That  well  nigh  seven  decades  of  our  years — 

Both  summer's  scorching  heat,  and  winter's  cold— 

Thou  hast  liv'd  and  nourished,  amid  hopes  and  fears. 

And  yet  to  be  transplanted  thou  hast  not 

Refus'd,  although  thy  earth  they  rudely  tore 

From  off  thy  roots ;  and  to  this  distant  plot, 

Graceful  but  ponderous,  thy  frame  they  bore. 

Thy  past  and  present  such  ;  and  now  they  tell 
With  confidence  the  future  of  thy  time — 

That  for  long  years  to  come  thou,  surely,  well 
"Wilt  thrive  and  flourish  in  this  genial  clime. 

As  in  thy  form  and  movements,  beauteous  tree, 
Thou  art  our  emblem  of  all  Christian  grace, 

May  we  then  not  cease  to  resemble  thee 

In  our  transplanting  from  our  earthly  place. 

There  must  be  rending  fibres  of  the  heart, 

Breaking  of  branches,  draining  sap  within ; 

Compell'd  from  lov'd  familiar  plants  to  part, 
And  on  an  unknown  sphere  to  enter  in. 

Yet  know  we  Whose  are  all  the  trees— 

Infinite  skill  in  His  transplanting  hand ; 

He,  then,  shall  move  us  when  and  how  He  please, 
So  it  be  to  His  fairer,  better  land. 


235 


THE    PEESENCE    OF    GOD. 


In  the  crowded  city : 

"  Thou  art  about  my  path." — Psalm  cxxxix. 
In  the  secret  chamber : 

"  Thou  art  about  my  bed." 
In  the  trackless  desert : 

"Thou,  God,  seest  me." — Gen.  xvi.  13. 
In  the  lonely  journey : 

"Surely  the  Lord  is  in  this  place,  though  I  knew  it 
not." — Gen.  xxviii.  16. 
In  the  assembled  congregation : 

"  In  all  places  where  I  record  my  name,  I  will  come  unto 
thee,  and  I  will  bless  thee." — Exod.  xx.  24. 
In  the  little  company  at  home  : 
"  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  together  in  my  name, 
there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them." — Matt,  xviii.  20. 
In  distant  cities  and  foreign  lands  : 

"  I  will  be  to  them  as  a  little  sanctuary  in  the  countries 
whither  they  shall  come." — Ezek.  xi.  16. 
So  that  in  looking  back  on  all  the  changes  of  our  residence, 
we  may  thankfully  say : 

"Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place  in  all  genera- 
tions."— Psalm  xc.  1. 
And  humbly  depend  upon  Thy  promise  for  the  great  future : 
"Where  I  am,  there  shall  also  my  servants  be." — John 
xii.  26, 


236 


ON  THE  STOEM  AT  BIAEEITZ 


Oh,  thou  fair  haven,  how  are  we  deceiv'd  ! 

We  thought  thee  only  beautiful  and  calm  ; 

O'er  the  green  slopes  that  half  enclose  thy  sides 

The  autumn  crocus  rais'd  its  purple  cup  ; 

The  sunbeams  daily  on  thy  waters  spread 

A  breadth  of  light,  a  radiant  path  to  heaven, 

Or  on  thy  waves  glittered  like  thousand  stars. 

Nor  did  the  night  in  darkness  hide  thy  charm  ; 

The  Pharos  on  thy  rocks  alternate  glow'd 

In  crimson  glory  like  a  morning  sun, 

Or  gleamed  in  silver  radiance  like  the  moon. 

But  now  how  changed  !  thy  face  that  wore  but  smiles 

Is  shrouded  now  in  anger's  sullen  gloom ; 

Thy  gentle  voice  in  indignation  roars 

Its  thunders,  and  thine  eyes  in  lightning  flash. 

We  dread  thee  even  in  a  shelter' d  home  ; 

How  must  they  tremble  tossing  on  thy  waves  ! 

One  gallant  ship  anxious  we  watch,  in  vain 

Seeking  her  haven  !— Yet  how  soon 

Thy  fury  is  appeas'd.     Sorrow  for  the  night 

Has  given  way  to  th'  early  morning's  joy, 

We  see  the  vessel  safely  reach  her  port, 


237 


Thy  frown  relax  into  thy  wonted  smiles  ; 
Or  if  remain  some  traces  of  thy  pow'r, 
'Tis  in  the  grandeur  of  subsiding  waves, 
Boiling  their  waters  on  opposing  rocks  ; 
Lifting  their  silvery  spray  like  clouds  of  light, 
And  in  the  sunbeam  bending  that  bright  bow, 
Which  with  its  seven  fair  colours  speaks  of  peace  ; 

So  majr  the  storms  which  sin  and  sorrow  raise 
As  quickly  pass,  and  God's  forgiving  love 
Assure  the  soul  to'rest. 


THE   MIEAOLE   AT    CANA; 

And  on  the  line— "The  modest  water  saw  its  God  and  blush'd. 


Not  chang'd  in  colour  only,  but  in  name, 
Jesus,  Himself  the  true  and  living  Vine, 

Spake,  and  the  water  from  the  spring  became 
A  real  and  consecrated  wine. 

Compelling  him  who  rul'd  the  feast  fallow, 

The  purest  and  the  best  were  kept  till  now. 


238 


THE    NIGHT-BLOWING    CEEEUS. 


Marvel  of  skill  Divine  ! 

In  all  the  flowering  earth, 
No  glories  may  compare  with  thine, 

So  mean  at  first  thy  birth. 

I  came  at  noontide  glow ; 

Thou  seem'd  a  barren  thing- 
No  moisture  at  thy  root  below, 

No  beauteous  bloom  to  bring. 

Prickly  thy  shoots,  and  bare 
Of  all  that  charms  the  eye  ; 

Thou  bade  me  go  elsewhere 
My  "sight  to  gratify. 

I  came  at  the  midnight  hour  ; 

Oh,  then  thy  changed  stem 
Show'd  thee,  transfigur'd  flower, 

A  golden  diadem. 


239 

Such  rays  of  glory  round  thee, 

Stamens  as  silver  white, 
Petals  of  gold  that  bound  thee 

Like  the  noon's  sunbeams  bright. 

Mj-  thoughts  to  One  thou  bore, 

Once  "  Hoot  in  a  dry  ground ;  " 

"No  form  or  comeliness"  He  wore, 
With  thorns  His  head  was  bound. 

But  at  the  "  midnight  cry," 

In  Bridegroom's  vestures  bright, 

To  His  Church's  gladden' d  eye 
He  will  break  forth  on  high 
Array' d  in  heaven's  own  light. 


240 


THE    SEVENTY-SIXTH    BIETHDAY. 

APRIL   10,  1873. 


How  swift  the  wheel  of  time 

Has  whirl'd  its  ceaseless  round  ! 

My  twenty-seven  thousand  days, 
What,  but  one  narrow  bound  ? 

Childhood,  youth,  manhood,  all 

Seem  roll'd  up  into  one  ; 
The  more  than  threescore  years  and  ten, 

Now  like  an  evening  gone. 

Yet  'twas  an  outspread  plain, 
Whereon  was  hourly  shew'd, 

Through  joy  or  grief,  in  sun  or  rain, 
The  wondrous  love  of  God. 

Endless  the  work  to  trace, 

His  varied  blessings  o'er, 
All  ill  requited — yet  I  hope 

To  praise  Him  evermore. 

Chief  for  that  human  life, 

Which,  less  than  half  my  span, 

Sufficed  to  work,  and  to  reveal, 
Salvation  unto  man. 


Peoli,  Thursday  before  Easter. 


I.  E.  CmtLCOTr,  Steam  Pres*,  Bristol. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PROSE  WRITINGS. 


Remarks  on  the  Poetry  of  Copper,  and  his  Imitations  of  the  Greek  and 
Latin  Poets,  especially  Callimachus. — Christian  Observer,  vol.  for  1819. 

Second  Paper  on  same.— Christian  Observer,  vol.  for  1S19. 

Prize  Essay  on  the  Scripture  Doctrine  of  Divorce,  and  tho  Laws  relating 
thereto,  8vo.— 1822. 

Review  of  Marriage  Laws.— Christian  Observer,  vol.  for  1822. 

Twenty-four  Contributions  on  various  Subjects  in  that  periodical,  between 
1819  and  1826. 

Address  to  the  Park  Chapel  National  Schools,  on  the  Death  of  a  former 
Scholar,  who  threw  himself  from  the  Monument.  —  October  18th,  1839. 

On  the  Sudden  Death  of  a  poor  Neighbour  in  Southwood  Lane.— April  3rd, 
1841. 

On  the  Railway  Accident  at  Colney  Hatch,  when  a  Neighbour  was  killed, 
and  others  seriously  injured.— September  28th,  1847. 

On  the  Jubilee  of  the  Church  Missionary  Society.     (The  Society  published  a 
large  number  for  circulation.)— October  30th,  1848. 

Address  to  the  Young,  for  the  Formation  of  Juvenile  Associations  in  tho 
Church  Pastoral  Aid  Society.   (The  Society  printed  7,000  copies.) — 1849. 

"Word  to  the  Young,  on  the  early  Death  of  Lucy  Abby,  the  Gardener  s 
Daughter.     (Pour  reprints.)— May  6th,  1853. 

Thoughts  at  the  Funeral  of  the  "Rev.  T.  H.  Canston.— May  22nd,  1854. 

Tract  for  the  Day  of  Thanksgiving  for  the  Abundant  Harvest.— October  1st, 
1854. 


Christmas  Eve,  its  Song ;  and  Christmas  Day,  its  Joy  :  or,  how  Men  should 
keep  the  Day,  seeing  how  Angels  began  it.  (Re-printed  many  times. 
Twenty-third  thousand,  1870     Profits  of  sales  given  to  Sunday  Schools. ) 

The  Cry  of  the  Camp,  and  the  Cry  of  the  Nation  ;  a  Tract  for  the  Fast  Day 
during  the  Crimean  War.  (Xeaily  5,000  copies  sold  in  a  fortnight.  The 
profits  given  to  the  Soldiers'  Daughters'  School.)  -March  21st,  1855. 

The  Shout  of  the  Camp,  raid  the  Song  of  the  Nation ;  a  Tract  for  the 
Thanksgiving  Day.     (The  profits  as  above.)— May  4th,  1856. 

India's  Mutiny,  and  England's  Mourning;  a  Tract  for  the  Fast  Day,— 
October  7th,  1858. 

Address  to  the  Workmen  Building  the  Church  of  St.  Simon,  Upper  Chelsea, 
with  Lithograph.— 1858. 

Ditto,  re-printed  for  the  Workmen  at  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  Magdalene, 
Stoke  Bishop,  with  Lithograph. — 1860.  (This  address  afterwards  adopted 
as  one  of  their  Tracts  by  the  S.P.C.K. ) 

Address  to  Cottagers  on  the  Death  of  one  of  their  number.— July  19tn,  1871. 

Address  to  the  Friends  and  Acquaintances  of  a  young  Spanish  Gentleman, 
who  died,  after  a  short  illness,  in  an  Hotel  in  Italy.— 1873. 


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